A Daughter for Skipper
by lovingSkipper
Summary: I was living a normal life. Just a normal life in typical Green Bay, Wisconsin. Then the car crash came, and took everything away. I lost my mother and my home, and now I'm living with my father halfway across the country. This is the story of how I came to live with my dad, the progression in our relationship, and complications we had along the way. (Rated T for strong language)
1. Prologue

It was a normal day in the HQ apartment. The day was young and their fighting training had just begun, practicing for further events that could very well happen, in Skipper's mind.

Skipper stood, his arms crossed and staring at his teammates, who were all lined up in a row. A silence was between them, which wasn't usually Skipper's first action after watching his teammates preform a training exorcise. Most of the time it was what they did wrong or right, or if they completely failed the manoeuvre they got a slap. Today, it was a long stare and silence.

"Um... Skipper?" The tallest teammate, John Kowalski, asked nervously.

"Okay," the leader finally sighed. "Take it from the top. And-"

Just as Skipper was about to say "Go", there was a knock on the door. Skipper rolled his eyes and growled softly at the interruption, grabbing the door and violently ripping it open, giving the person on the other side a glare.

The person on the other side was a dirty blond male, oval wire-framed glasses sat low on his nose, looking at Skipper with a bored look. "Is there a..." the man looked at his clipboard. "Thomas McCullock around here?"

Skipper raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, never breaking his intense stare from the guy. "Why?"

The blond sighed, grabbing a pen from his suit's dress pocket. "I'm here from Child Protective Services. I'm here to inform him that his daughter-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, there. I am Thomas McCullock, and no, I do not have a child. I don't know where you're getting this from, but you need to leave."

The man blinked and sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. "Please tell me this isn't one of those cliché things where the father doesn't know he has a daughter."

When Skipper gave the the CPS worker a blank look, the worker gave a small groan. "It is. Are you aware of a woman named Kitka Peregrine?"

Skipper's eyes furrowed together and nodded slowly, combing a hand through his neatly-trimmed black hair. "She was my girlfriend, what, fourteen, fifteen years ago? Why?"

"It's been sixteen years, and apparently she had a daughter. Her name is Liberty. Ms Peregrine has passed away two days ago from a car accident, and Liberty has been at the Belen Hospital in Green Bay, Wisconsin for the past four days."

Skipper stopped, and the team lightly cringed when they heard of Kitka's death. Once in a while Skipper and Kitka would get together, but they saw Skipper still had some feelings for her, but it wasn't enough to keep them together. Never once, though, had Kitka mentioned that there was a daughter involved in their love equation. Kowalski had told Skipper numerous times he thought she was hiding something, but Skipper blew it off all the time.

Now, Skipper wished he would have listened.

"Okay," Skipper replied slowly. "And this Liberty girl, she's my… daughter?"

"Yes sir. You need to sign some papers to legally become her guardian, and as soon as she's released from the hospital she'll be on a plane to come here to New York."

Skipper just nodded slowly, still dazed as to what was happening. This day had started out normal.

That went down the drain fast.


	2. Chapter One: Meet 'n' Greet

_"Ha ha ha, Mom, very funny." I said my mother, who was laughing beside me._

_"Come on, you have to admit it's funny!" she said, a grin on her face. "Right?"_

_I rolled my eyes and laughed along with her. It was a fun day so far. We were heading to the mall for some shopping, and we were currently passing Lambeau Field, the Green Bay Packer Stadium. For living right by the stadium, we never really got into sports and football and stuff. It just didn't seem to be something we enjoyed, so we stayed away from it._

_I gently pushed her, enough so she would feel it but not enough to make her swerve while driving. "Yeah, sure Mo-"_

_And suddenly there was a scream, and a horrible sound of metal scraping on metal. I felt the car being pushed to the right, and then went spinning when another crunch came from the back. A sharp, searing pain shot through my legs, and I passed out._

_I woke up just a short bit later, though, and I happened to look over. My mom was leaning at an awkward position, and I screamed as I registered the blood around her face. I started to panic and I tried to get out to help her, by my legs were wedged in between some plastic and metal from the crushed front end. I ripped them out, which caused a lot more pain from my legs and caused them to bleed a lot more, but at the moment, I didn't care about myself. I cared about my mother._

_I crawled out my window since my door was jammed, and ran to the other side of the car, ignoring my pain as I ripped open my mom's door. I got out her pocket knife and cut her seatbelt, gently taking her out of the car and onto the pavement._

_I held her close and cried, begging her to wake up, but all I was confronted with was her chest moving up and down._

_And just as the sirens could be heard in the distance, her breathing stopped. I cried harder and held her until the paramedics came and took me away, and I let myself fall into darkness._

I jump up and scream as the dream replays in my mind for the millionth time in the past four days. Mr Maddock, the person who's in charge of getting me on the plane to New York, is sitting next to me in the driver's seat of the car, a bored look on his face. "You all right?" he asks, though he knows what I'm going to say. It's what I always say.

"I'm fine," I reply my usual, and slink back into my seat. For the past couple of days, I haven't talked much. Do you blame me? I've lost the only parent I've ever known to a car accident, I have a gash on my forehead that's currently in the process of healing and creating a scar, and I'm going halfway across the country to live in New York City with someone I've never met before. He could be a dick for all I know.

Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair. Mom always respected that I liked my hair different colours, and I was constantly changing it. My original hair colour is a dark red, but I have – or had – friends that have never seen my true hair colour. Since I was ten, I've been dyeing it different colours. Pink, purple, black, brown, blue, red, and many more. Currently, it was a bright pink. I wonder if my father is going to accept me…

I stare out the window as we make our way into the city of Milwaukee, and I dread it. I close my eyes as we made our way to the airport, each minute feeling like an hour. Finally we pull into the airport, and Mr Maddock and I get out of the car. As we grab my bags and head inside, I feel myself being sucked away from everything I've ever known. I've never really left Wisconsin before, and now not only was I leaving to live in an entirely new state, but I was going to live in New York City without my mom.

I put my bags through the scanner and do protocol, going through the motions like a zombie. I feel tired and dead inside, unable to really take in the gravity of what was going on. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I was going to live with someone I've never met for the next couple of years in a state halfway across the country.

When I realise Mr Maddock is talking to me, I pay half-attention. He's jabbering about how I shouldn't talk to people when I'm on the plane and that I should call my father on my cell when I get there. I roll my eyes and nod to get him off my back. I'm fifteen, not four, I know about fucking "stranger danger" and all that wonderful stuff.

Once I'm on the plane, I shut off my phone and my iPod, shoving them in my handbag and grabbing my book, _Shiver _by Maggie Stiefvater. I bury myself in my book, ignoring everyone around me, slowly drifting off into my own little world.

* * *

The plane lands as I'm reading about Grace and Sam in Grace's house, where Sam is teasing her about singing off-key while brushing her teeth. I sigh and close my book, putting it in my handbag and grabbing my jacket. As I'm waiting for the others to get off the plane, a hand touches my shoulder. Immediately I tense and I prepare to fight, turning around quickly with my fists held up.

I'm met by a tall man with blond hair and dressed in a bluish grey suit, a briefcase at his side. I can't help but be a little cautious of him, especially since he had a weird robotic eye thing on his right eye. I can tell it's mostly to cover up a scar that still poked out the sides, but I can't help but wonder if he can see out of it.

He laughs an annoying and choppy laugh, and it makes a shiver go up my spine. Who is this guy?

"Oh, little one, no need for fighting. I simply just want you to know you can get off before me."

With being sceptical and quick on my feet, I replied with a fake smile. "No no, it's fine, I have to grab a couple more things anyway. Thanks for the offer." I remember my manners that my mother has drilled into my head, and I turn away to grab some more of my things.

I feel him staring at me as I continue to shuffle around my stuff, acting busy. I feel uneasy, but I'm ready to pounce if he tries to do anything to me. After a bit, though, he leaves, and I'm able to relax.

I wait another minute before exiting the plane, and I walk into the building off to the side. I grab all my baggage and find nothing lost, which I'm happy about. I do a quick bathroom run and walk out, turning on my cell phone and calling the number of my supposed father.

"Skipper speaking," the man answers, and I furrow my eyebrows together. What the hell kind of greeting was that?

Deciding to be professional, I reply, "It's Liberty. My plane's landed and I'm by the women's bathroom nearest to the doors facing east. Where are you? I'll come find you."

The man, "Skipper", is silent for a short bit, then replies, "Never mind where we are. We'll come to you."

As I go to answer, the call is disconnected. He hung up on me. Bastard.

I huff and roll my eyes, shoving my cell phone into my jeans and leaning against the wall. People are everywhere, and I don't feel very comfortable. I keep an eye out of everyone around me, watching their every moves. In such a crowded area, I was not going to let my guard down. Not a snowball's chance in hell.

As I'm watching everyone, I spot four men making their ways towards me. All four have black hair, but they are all styled differently. The tallest one, who has to be the tallest person I've ever seen in my entire life, has short hair cropped close to his head, and he's wearing a green jacket with jeans. He has a small smile on his face, and he looks excited.

The next tallest one has a very small Mohawk atop his head, a scar running down the left side of his mouth. He's in a black t-shirt (and obviously insane because it is cold as hell outside) with a skull and crossbones on it and regular jeans. He looks slightly… unstable.

The one in front of them is obviously the leader, a look of no-funny-business on his face. He looks unamused, and like he's wasting time. He's in a black jacket and loose jeans, his black hair cut military-style.

The last one is the smallest, a slightly-pudgy man with a Lunacorn shirt and jeans. My mouth twitches upward slightly at seeing the Lunacorn shirt, knowing he's being rather brave for being his age and wearing a shirt like that. He looks extremely young, by far the youngest, barely 20 years old. He looks like he doesn't belong in the group, being so young. The rest look like they are in their late twenties, early thirties.

I look away, but keep an eye on them out of the corner of my eye. They could be here to hurt me, especially with the way they were all eyeing me up.

As they approached me, I looked up at them, retaining a nonchalant facial expression. "You boys need somethin'?" I asked, as if I was bored.

"Are you Liberty?" the "leader" asked me, and he suspiciously sounded like the guy I called earlier.

I don't move, just staring at the guy. I wasn't going to be fooled if this was some scheme to steal me away and do horrible and unspeakable things to me. "Who's asking?"

The leader growls a little bit, then sighs. "I'm Skipper."

Oh dear Christ. I'm going to live with _him? _Please tell me the other dudes don't come along with him.

I let out a huge sigh, standing up straight. "Yeah, I'm Liberty."

"Good. Come on, we'll talk more when we get out of this rat trap," Skipper's nose twitches as he glares at everyone around us. I raise an eyebrow at that, but just nod, grabbing my stuff and walking out with the four men.

Well, isn't this a wonderful picture. Four men and a fifteen-year-old girl walking through an airport. It sounds like the beginning to a corny joke.

And that corny joke is about to turn into my life, it seems.

Once we get out of the "rat trap" and I put all my baggage into the trunk, we get into yellow car that looks like an old taxi that got a paintjob. Mohawk guy gets in the driver's seat, Skipper – or rather my father – gets into the passenger's side, while I'm wedged in between the tall guy and Mr Lunacorn in the back seat. I'm silent as I clutch my handbag, feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

Mr Lunacorn clears his throat a bit as the car starts, and he gives me his hand. "Hi, Liberty. I'm James Ryan, but you can call me Private," he explains, a British accent pouring from his lips.

I stare at his hand for a second before remembering my manners, grabbing his hand and shaking it slightly. "Hi."

The tall guy spoke up this time. "I'm John Kowalski, but you can just call me Kowalski. Everyone does."

I nod and repeat the same greeting, forcing a smile. I don't want to show how uncomfortable I was, but it is extremely hard not to at the moment. The awkward air in the car was so thick I'm sure you could cut it with a knife.

The British guy nudges Skipper gently as if for him to speak up, but all he gets is a slap back. Oh great, I got a jackass for a father. Wonderful. "This is Skipper," Private explains, casting a little disappointed glance at the back of Skipper's head. "He's a good guy, he's just nervous is all."

"Leaders don't get nervous, Private," is all Skipper said, not saying anything about himself. I roll my eyes at his response, though don't press the matter. The last thing I want to do is get into a fight with my father on the first day I meet him.

Kowalski speaks up. "And the one driving is Rico Narvaez. He's got a speech condition, so excuse his grunts and loud noises like that."

I nod, saying "hi" to Rico, who gave me a rough "'ello" back.

The rest of the car ride is silent, and I'm perfectly okay with that. We park outside an apartment building called "Central Park Apartments", and I wait for the men to get out before I do. Kowalski and Private help me with getting all my stuff up to my dad's apartment, but upon Skipper's orders, they leave.

"Okay, we need to set some ground rules," he says, starting to pace. I raise an eyebrow, though nod slowly.

"One: there will be no parties and no sleepovers. Two: your bedtime is ten. Any later than that and you will be punished appropriately. Three: no boyfriends. Four: any and all friends that you make will come here for my inspection to see if they are a spy. Five: you will listen to me and you will not question anything I say. Got it?"

Grade A Jackass so far. Wonderful. "Yes I do."

"Good. You can call me Skipper or Sir."

I blink. "But shouldn't I-"

"No questioning what I say. It's Skipper or Sir, nothing else. Capiche?"

I scrunch my nose up. "Yes sir."

He nods. "Your bedroom is in the HQ."

"What's an HQ?"

"Headquarters. It's where all my men sleep, and so will you."

"Yes sir."

"Good."

I'm going to hate it here.


	3. Chapter Two: Around the HQ

When Skipper and I get to the HQ apartment, Private takes me on a tour of the place. All in all, I vote that I absolutely will hate being here. This place is nuts, and not to mention a little creepy. Why they have their own apartments when it could all be in the HQ, I don't know. I mean, they all sleep in the HQ, Kowalski has his own lab in here because he's apparently a really huge science nerd, there's a weapons room for Rico who's obsessed with weapons, and they have several different rooms that I wasn't allowed in. This apartment takes up the entire top floor of this building. I don't know what they do for a living so they can afford all this, but at this point, I really don't want to know.

Private shows me my room very last. I suspect he did this so I didn't run off in the middle of the tour, which I would have done. "Thanks for showing me around, Private. Right now I'm quite tired from the plane ride here, so I think I'm going to take a nap. Is that all right?"

The British boy grins and nods. "Yeah, that's all right. Go ahead, I'll tell the other's you're sleeping so they keep it down a notch and so Rico doesn't test his weapons."

"Thanks, Private," I say as I close the door on him. I listen as his footsteps walk away, and immediately I go to work. I start setting up my bed (which is basically a rectangular hole in the wall with a mattress), placing my pillow down and some blankets I've brought from home. Once that's all neatened up, I place some of my mother's stuff, which is basically little ornaments and pictures of us, on one of my dressers, and very few of my knick knacks on my bedside table next to it. I hang up all my clothes, then look around my room. It might have all my stuff in it, but that doesn't make it my home. It makes it my house, a place to sleep. It's cliché as hell, but it's the truth: home is where the heart is. Sadly, my heart is still in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

I place my makeup bag down on my biggest dresser, one that would hold my hair and makeup supplies along with my jeans and pyjamas. The large dresser was made of wood, with a large mirror attached to it. It looked beat up and worn out, and the mirror had a small crack in the corner of it. By no means was this dresser new, but I was going to take all I could get at the moment.

A sigh escapes my lips as I stare at my bright pink hair in the reflection. Well, at least no one has said anything about it. It's not hard to tell that Skipper doesn't like it due to the disapproving looks he gives the top of my head. Oh well, though, I'm going to keep it the way it is. I like it too much to get rid of it. Maybe next time I'll go with a teal colour.

I run my fingers through my hair and grab my makeup towel, deciding it was time to take off my makeup. I slowly open the door, then make my way into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Turning to the mirror, I wipe away the makeup I have on, and then rinse out my towel. After cleaning up the small mess I've made, I walk back into my room to change into pyjamas.

Once I'm comfortable, I lie on the floor and think about what else I could do with my room. Thinking back on the tour, it seems the guys I'm now living with have secret rooms and compartments in practically every room there possibly is. I wonder if there's something in my room that's secret or something. Might as well check it out.

I look around my room, thinking about the most cliché way of hiding something. Probably would be in the closet, or behind the dressers. Right now, I think going for the closet would be my best guess. Grabbing my Swiss Army Knife (the only reason I have this is because Mr Maddock shipped all my knives here through the mail four days ago), I flip on the flashlight and look around the right side of my closet. I pressed on the walls and gently tapped on it, seeing if anything would come undone or some secret door would open up. Sadly, that did not happen. I flip around and go to the other side of my closet, finding not exactly what I was looking for, but better for my benefit.

There's a hole in the wall. Not just any old hole, a secret cubby hole I can use. The entryway isn't incredibly large, but the hole is about four feet tall, and about five feet wide, which to me is more than enough space. By the looks of it, it's just been cleaned out, which means the guys know about it. Okay, not so secret, but it's something that I can use as a getaway or a reading area. I smile brightly at it, feeling proud of myself for finding it.

I nod to myself in success and back out of my closet, grabbing my books and storing them inside the hole. With another smile, I look at the time, and my mood immediately plummets. It's almost ten, and I have to be in bed. I have five minutes to get into bed.

I get out of the closet before they can realise I've found the hole and plug in my phone, crawling into my bed. I move around and try to get comfortable, and as soon as the clock hits ten, Skipper opens the door to my room. I remember I was supposed to be sleeping like a half hour ago, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. I focus on my breathing, making sure it's even so I don't get called out for faking sleeping. It seems like something that Skipper would do, sadly.

He stays for a minute, looking at me, and I fight the urge to open my eyes. I feel his eyes on me, watching me, and it makes me feel nervous. Skipper then lets out a sigh and shuts the lights off before closing the door.

With a small sigh, I flip around so I face the wall, burying my face in my pillow as I silently cry myself to sleep.

* * *

_Crash._

_Scream._

_Blood._

_Pain._

_More screams._

_Sirens._

_And then, silence.  
_

* * *

I'm woken up by my own terrified scream and a pair of arms wrapped around me, holding me tight with a hand on my head. I clutch to the mysterious person and cry for my mom. She is gone, and there is nothing I can do about it. I want her back, I want her now, and I can't have her. I can hear the echoes of her screams, the sounds of the sirens, and the sounds of the metal scraping against metal. Everything is ringing in my ears and I'm bawling, because I just wanted away from it all.

Slowly, I'm coming to reality. I start hearing more than just sounds of the crash. I hear someone shushing me gently as I'm being rocked back and forth, their hand running through my hair. Who the hell am I clinging to?

I hear a voice. The voice is telling me to follow it, and that what I'm hearing and/or seeing isn't real. I do as it says and follow it, mainly because I'm determined to see who the voice belongs to. The noises in the background are slowly but surely being drowned out by the voice speaking to me. It's getting louder, and I can now identify that the voice is male. I realise I'm not crying and screaming any more, but I'm still clutched to the man's shirt. I open my eyes and blink, trying to clear away my bleary vision. I feel out-of-it still, and I feel kind of dizzy. I wipe my eyes on the man's shirt before I suddenly realise _I still don't know who's holding me._

Looking up at the man above me, I see Skipper, a worried look in his eyes and on his face. He looks lost, like he doesn't know what to do, but he's also concerned. Is he actually concerned about me?

As I'm realising all of this, I'm also realising I'm still tired as hell and I feel exhausted from crying and screaming. I press my head back into his chest and close my eyes, continuing to hold him tightly as I slip in and out of consciousness. I try to say thank you for helping me, but I'm not sure if it came out right. In this state, I don't care. I just grab on, hold tight, and slip back into unconsciousness.

* * *

I wake up from a blasting alarm by my bed. I groan and smack it to activate snooze mode, burying my face in my pillow. I feel disorientated and like I was hit by thirty trains last night.

I feel my bed sink near the edge, and I jump out of my skin. When I jump, I manage to whack my head on the ceiling of my hole-in-the-wall for a bed, groaning softly as I cradle my head and shove myself back down into the pillow.

"Sorry 'bout that," I hear a high-pitched British accent say, "but it's time for school. You need to get up."

With a groan in protest and a chuckle from Private, he finally gets me up. I kick him out of my room so I can get dressed in my usual: jeans and a loose sweatshirt. I run a brush through my hair and put on my makeup, then walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth. After I brush my teeth, I'm ready to go.

I walk into the living room to see all four men staring at me. I look around at them as they continue to stare, and I start to feel uncomfortable. What the hell? Why were they looking at me like that? I then remembered the incident last night, and my face gets heated. What the hell had gotten into me? I've had nightmares before, granted not the death of my mother, but to any other nightmare I just woke up and rolled back over. Why have I been acting to much different now? I clear my throat and tug on my sweatshirt sleeves, going into the kitchen to get something to eat. How would this change the relationship between Skipper and I? Would we be any different, or are we going back to the same way? Was he actually concerned about me last night, or was he just helping me because he felt he should as my father? There are so many questions I want to know the answers to due to last night.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and go back to looking for food. After looking around, I see that most of their diet contained of fish. Fish almost literally filled the fridge and freezer. The only other thing I found was cereal, and not the kind you'd think: It's cereal with skeleton marshmallows. Why the hell do four men have a box of cereal with skeleton marshmallows? It seems something that a little kid would eat more than an apartment of four grown-ass men.

No matter how many times I say it, I can't get over the fact four guys live in the same apartment and sleep in the same room. Four guys living in an apartment together is not normal. It's just not. Well, maybe it is in New York, but it certainly is not the case in Green Bay. I wondered for about three seconds if they were all gay or something, which I'm totally fine with, but it seems I'm living proof Skipper isn't. Well, he wasn't. He may be now for all I know, since Mom and him hooked up sixteen years ago. I can't say anything about the rest of them, though.

With a shake of the head, I pour my cereal and the milk and quickly eat it up. The less time I have to spend with these guys, the better. Only three years left before I can move back to Green Bay, right? If I can get through these next couple of years, I will be homeward bound and high-tailing it out of this godforsaken place.

I wash out my bowl once I'm done and put it in the sink. I go back into my room to grab my books and my bag in my little cubby hole. I sling it over my shoulder and sigh heavily before walking back out to the living room. I sit down awkwardly on the couch as the four men have now migrated the table in the dining room. I can hear them talking, but I can't understand what they were saying. Laying back on the couch, I close my eyes and put my arm behind my head. Maybe if I lie here and do nothing, I'll wake up to my mom making me chocolate chip pancakes and blasting ACDC.

"Time for school!" Private calls to me a couple of minutes later. "The bus will be here for you soon!"

Fuck. It didn't work. I grunt as I sit up, sighing heavily once more. "Okay!" I call back. "See you guys." And with that, I head out the door and practically run to the end of the road. When was the bus coming? Where was it coming from? Where would I even be going to school? Obviously Skipper thought this out a lot more than I did. Then again, that is his job. He's my father, he should do something.

About three minutes later, according to my phone, the bus came by to pick me up. I get on and immediately feel awkward and out-of-place as all eyes were on me. I clear my throat and sit in the back of the bus, looking out the window as I saw Skipper at the door, watching me get on the bus. We meet eyes, but exchange nothing but a look between each other. Turns out nothing is going to change between us. I'm just fine with that.

As I'm taken to school, I sit alone the entire time. I kind of figured something like this would happen; I'm not exactly a socially acceptable kid. Now that I'm living with four guys in the same apartment, I will be even more unaccepted. Plus, my father is going to drive any possible friends away with his rules. They're strict, but they don't exactly effect me too much. Sounds sad, but the only one that truly effected me is the bedtime one. Being an hour ahead, my bedtime felt earlier, and it felt like I woke up earlier. I'd get used to it soon, though. Not like I had any other choice.

We arrive at a building called "Central Park High School". Even though it looks like a wonderful place, I still miss my old school. I miss everything. I want to go home.

Of course, I'm stuck in New Hell.

I get off the bus and immediately walk to the office to get my schedule. I look over it, and I have the usual classes. Chemistry, history, algebra, all that stuff. I always dreamed of being a cop like my mom, or maybe even a spy, so none of these categories really took my interest.

First thing to do: find my locker. I look around and with some help from some snotty kids I find it, conveniently located in between two rather large guys. Obviously they're jocks, and I really hoped I wouldn't have any trouble with them.

"Hey yo Bing, look at what we have here," the darker-haired one said in a deep voice as soon as he laid eyes on me. He wore a large jacket with the school name on it over his shirt and a pair of ripped, grass-stained jeans.

The sandy-haired man next to him turned around to face me, and I'm pretty sure they're brothers by the looks of it. "Bing", as the other one called him, grinned at me. "It looks like we got a new girl in town, eh Bada?"

I swallow and smile softly, looking up at them. What is up with tall people and New York? I'm not an incredibly small girl; I'm 5'4, but it seems it's not enough because these men have to be 6'2 at least. "Hi. My locker is right in between yours," I say bluntly, beginning to advance toward my locker.

They move out of the way as I shove my things in my locker, grabbing my pencil and a notebook for notes. They continue having the conversation they were before I interrupted, something about football which I don't pay incredibly close attention to.

I interrupt their conversation once again. "Can you boys point me where the algebra class is?"

A sigh escapes my lips when they both point different ways. They then look at each other and change the way they were pointing, so they were pointing the way the other one previously had. Basically they have no clue, but they are trying to be helpful. I probably should have known that they didn't know, especially because just by listening to them, intelligence isn't their thing.

"Thanks anyway," I say as I tear ass down the hall, following the numbers and letters to try and find my class.

Basically, the entire say was like that. Tearing ass to get to a different class, ending up a minute or two late, meeting no one I liked. The teachers were slightly stuck up but friendly enough to introduce me to each and every class I went to. Slightly annoying, but it was my first day, so while it was annoying it was also kind of expected. I also got stared at because of my hair, but I knew that was bound to happen. Even here in New York, where there were so many more people and so much more "acceptance", I was still getting stares. I guess while you have more acceptance, you also have a whole lot more judgement. Oh well, when you dye your hair I guess you're signing up for the fact you're going to get stares.

Anyway, after that hectic day, I'm happy to go to the apartment.

When I arrive, I flop down on the dining room chair and put all my homework on the table. My first day, and the homework was incredibly high. With a sigh and a run of my fingers through my hair, I got down to work in silence. In this house, the silence in unnerving. I feel like I should be able to hear something, anything, even if it's just the TV.

I do my homework in silence, just like old times as I waited for Mom to come home from her shift. I close my eyes as I think about her a bit, feeling tears spring to my eyes. No, I can't have that. She wouldn't want me to cry.

But goddamn, does it still hurt that she's gone. Nothing is the same any more. I don't like this new life in a different state. I don't like going to a new school, I don't like living with four men in a single apartment. I want everything to be back to the way it was, back to my happy, beautiful life with Mom alive.

After I finish my homework, I allow myself to cry a bit and mourn her death before the others got home. After two minutes, I force myself to stop and wipe my eyes, shoving all my homework back into my bag. I drag myself over to the couch, curling up in the corner of it and closing my eyes. A little nap wouldn't hurt. After the incident last night, I'd say I deserve it.

So I relax and slowly slip off into slumber land.


	4. Chapter Three: Battles Against the Mind

When I wake up next, it's dark outside. The HQ is dark due to no lights being on, and the sounds of distant car horns are blaring in the distance. Other than that, it's almost eerily silent. A soft groan of confusion makes its way out of my throat as I look around the darkness-cloaked room. I grunt as I get up and flip on the lights, squinting as the light hits my eyes. Where is everyone?

"Guys?" I call out, but receive no answer. Maybe they're all still at work?

I grab my phone and dial Skipper's number, pressing the phone to my ear. The call went straight to Skipper's voicemail. "This is Skipper and you should _not_ have this number."I roll my eyes and hang up as the robot starts talking, locking my phone and putting it on the counter.

Shrugging it off for now, I try my best to wake up. I've always had trouble waking up; it takes forever for my mind to catch up with what my brain and body has already done. With a sigh, I walk into the kitchen, finding something small to eat before I start to do my usual exercise. I haven't done it this past week since the accident, but I feel I'm ready to get back to it.

I go to my room and throw on my tank top and some shorts. I put on some music and got on the floor, preparing myself for sit-ups. I do all my usual stretches and a small warm-up before starting my work out.

Before I know it, an hour has passed. I've done sit-ups, mountain climbers, lunges, push-ups, and more. I love to work out. It keeps me fit, and it helps release endorphins that help with depression, which I need right now. I grab another towel and wipe off my face, a smile plastered where a frown has lately claimed its home. It felt nice to work out again, even if I was all sweaty and nasty at the moment. That's what showers are for.

I hop in the shower and wash up, loving the feeling of warm water washing over me as I wash up. The warmth feels great, since the guys keep it cooler in the apartment than what I like. I'm not about to argue, though, especially since I don't know what heating costs in New York. Everything is so much different in New York than it is in Green Bay. I thought Green Bay had horrible traffic on a Saturday, but here it takes two and a half hours to go four miles in down town Manhattan. It is crazy as hell.

After taking a shower and drying off, I get into my pyjamas. I walk out of the bathroom, only three seconds later to find myself with my back against the wall, pinned down by Skipper. His arm is across my upper chest and my shoulders to hold me against the wall, his other hand pressed to my mouth. Rico, Kowalski, and Private are behind him, their arms up in fight stances and looks on their faces that chilled me to the bone. Suddenly, these guys got a whole lot scarier.

"Liberty, you've got to warn us, soldier!" Skipper says, letting me go and throwing my hands up in the air as the three others relax. Wait, soldier? What the hell? "We could have hurt you."

Peeling myself off the wall, I raise my eyebrow at them. "Sorry. I would have warned you I was taking a shower if I knew where you were. I tried callin' you, but you didn't answer."

Skipper throws his arm in the air to gesture towards... something. I don't even know what he's doing with his arm. "Don't call me while I'm at work; it throws me off. Think of a better way next time."

Well, then. "Yeah, I'll leave a note on the counter or something next time." Throwing them a glance, I walk to my room down the hall, closing the door behind me.

I wonder what happened to Mr Nice Guy that appeared last night. Apparently, he was eaten by up by Mr Hard Ass.

* * *

It's Saturday, and Private and I are grocery shopping. Apparently he loved to do so, since he stopped by the kids section and bought himself a Lunacorn shirt or toy whenever he got the chance. I've only been grocery shopping a couple of times, since Mom never took me because I didn't really care to go. Now I wish I could change everything and make myself go.

On the way here, I was mainly silent while Private did all the talking, talking about practically anything he could. I can see he's trying to get close with me, but I don't want to be close with him. That would mean I would have to see my father every time I wanted to visit Private, and once I'm eighteen, I'm getting out of this city.

"So then Princess Self-Respectra said-"

"Hey, Private? Maybe we should focus on the food a tiny bit more than what Princess Self-Respectra said," I interrupt as politely as I can, a small smile forcing its way onto my face. "Plus, we missed the fish aisle."

Private blinks and turns around, laughing nervously as he ran his fingers through his short black hair. I smile and pat him on the back as we go back to the seafood aisle, picking out the fish that we want or the others requested.

I stay by the carp as Private runs to the bathroom quickly. It's against Skipper's protocol for me to be on my own, and I can tell Private is nervous about leaving me alone, but I'm not four. I think I can handle myself. I've been in karate eight years, so I'm pretty good at defending myself.

Opening up the freezer, I grab a package of carp and turn to throw it in the basket. As I turn around, though, I almost run into someone. I gasp and jump back, dropping the carp and raising my arms up and ready to fight. "Calm down, little one," I hear a familiar, sickeningly-sweet voice say. I look up and see that creepy dude from the plane when I first arrived in New York. I think it's a little strange meeting the same person twice here in New York, but oh well. Maybe it's just me and it is perfectly normal. His hair was styled the same and his creepy-ass robotic eye was still there, staring into my soul. The only difference was he had different clothes on.

"I believe you've dropped this?" he asks, bending down and grabbing the carp that I've dropped. I don't take it from him when he offers it back, I just sit and eye him up. "Ah, I see. I'll just put this next to you and let you get on your way."

Mr Creepy Eye then takes a couple steps back, and walks away. Finally, I let my guard down and grab the carp, throwing it in the basket. Not two seconds later, Private came back.

"Sorry 'bout being so long. More people were in the bathroom than usual," he apologised, smiling at me.

I wave my hand and shake my head dismissively, both to dismiss his apology and to get the creepy man out of my head. God, what is his issue? "No no, it's fine, Private. C'mon, we better finish up soon if we want to stop by the Lunacorn section."

Private's eyes immediately lit up with delight as he clapped his hands giddily, making a chuckle rupture from my throat.

We quickly got the shopping done, even picked up some cereal and Macaroni and Cheese for me to make myself. I'm quite happy with this shopping experience, even if we have to go through the Lunacorn aisle. I'm not huge on Lunacorns, I'll watch it every now and again if nothing else is on, but I'll go through it for Private, who is very obviously obsessive about the show.

I go through the aisle with him as he points out Princess Self-Respectra toys and shirts he liked, giggling like a fanboy the entire time. Seeing him so happy brings a smile to my face, and it cheers me up a little just to see someone else's life going wonderfully.

After that, we check out and pay for everything, and head out to where we parked our car. "Well, I find it's nice to hang out with you, Private."

Private's eyes once again lit up with joy, and it makes me feel happier inside. "Really?"

"Yeah! I'd like to-" I'm cut off my Private yelling my name and jerking me back, a car flying by in front of me and blaring his horn.

I feel like I'm falling back, and suddenly I'm back at the car crash, screaming my mom's name to try and wake her up. Blood is everywhere and the car is smashed, and I feel nothing going right. I feel Mom stop breathing in my arms, and I scream and cry for her. I sob for her, telling her she needs to wake up, that I need her and I love her, but nothing works. Nothing is waking Mom up from the dead.

Now the darkness is closing in around my eyes, and I feel like I'm being suffocated. I allow the darkness to take me in and swallow me whole, hoping to never wake up again.

* * *

"... and she started screaming?" I hear a distant voice, one I don't recognise. I twitch and try to move, but I feel like my wrists are tethered to something. The fuck?

A certain, familiar British voice answers. "Yes doctor, she did. I don't know what's wrong with her. She's scaring us all with this."

My eyes open a bit, only to close again from the light. I'm in a hospital; after spending four days straight in a hospital, I know the smell. From Green Bay to New York, most hospitals smell the same. Slowly, I opened my eyes, letting my eyes get used to the light.

"No! She's my daughter and I say no. I'm not having her on medication, especially ones she needs to take daily. I have too many enemies for that, too many enemies that could use her against me. No medication, case closed."

I look over to where the voices are coming from, and see Skipper with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes forming slits as he eyed the doctor suspiciously. Private is tapping his hands together nervously, a couple steps back from Skipper. Kowalski had a hand on Private's shoulder, trying to calm him down a little. Rico, however, was staring at me, and as soon as my eyes landed on him, he alerted the others in squawks that I was awake.

The five men's heads looked in my general direction, then walk over to me. "Miss Peregrine, how are you feeling?" the doctor asked, getting his clipboard and pen ready for when I speak.

I stared at him for a second before speaking. "My name is Liberty. Miss Peregrine was my mother. And I'm feeling fine. Tired and slightly confused, but I'm fine." I say bluntly, not bothering to be nice.

The doctor nodded and wrote something down. As he was writing, I jerked on the things tethering my wrists and ankles to the bed. It made the sides of the hospital bed squeak in protest. "The reason you're tied up is because you went wild a bit after you were admitted to the hospital, so we needed to keep the nurses safe."

Just as I was about to ask to be untied, Skipper came over and released me, not caring what the doctor said. I smiled slightly and nodded a thanks, which he gave a brief nod back. I sat up slowly, looking up as the doctor began to speak once more.

"Liberty, what you've been having lately is under the category of post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. Usually we don't catch it this quick due to grieving, but it seems this is what you've had. Now, we could put you on medication-"

A deep growl stirs in Skipper's chest as he glares daggers at the doctor. The doctor continues despite him. "- and it could help you with your attacks."

"I've dealt with PTSD before, and I've never been on medication," Skipper growled, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Skipper," interjects Kowalski, "the medications could be helpful for her. It would reduce her chances of having another flashback and having the nightmares. It could benefit her so much more than your paranoia could."

Skipper stays silent for a couple seconds before sighing exasperatedly, his arms falling to his sides. "_Fine_. I still don't like it."

The doctor nodded and wrote something down on his clipboard, then looked at me. He explains what medication he's giving me and when to take it, which is once a day. I nod and he gets up to do whatever the hell doctors do.

After he leaves, I sit up, getting more comfortable in my bed as I cross my legs Indian style on the bed. "What... What happened?" I ask Private, looking up at the slightly-pudgy British boy.

He sits next to me on the bed and sighs. "When the car flew by us in the parking lot, it triggered you to have a flashback of your Mum's car crash. I had to call 911, then I called Skipper when the ambulance arrived to take you to the hospital. When we got to the hospital, you were still having a hard time. Skipper managed to get you out of the flashback and back into reality when we got to the hospital, and then you passed out. You woke up once more and had a bit of a meltdown, so they tied you up and gave you something to knock you out."

I blink. I don't remember anything past the car going past us. Well, I remember my flashback slightly, but nothing else. "How long have I been out?"

"Not long," Kowalski replies, "about two hours or so."

Rico waves his arms a bit and starts making noises, apparently imitating what happened. I raise my eyebrow and watch him, then turn to Skipper when Rico throws himself on the floor when he imitated me passing out. "Uh, thanks, Skipper. For helping me."

He once again nods in replace of a "you're welcome". I fight the small urge to hug him, knowing that hugging isn't Skipper's thing. I'm also unsure of how to feel about this. He's been helping me out through a lot of this, and I should feel grateful, but I don't know what to feel. He's my father, not my dad. I've never had a dad, and I never will have a dad. End of story.

To me, there's a difference between having a father, and having a dad. A dad is someone who wants you and cares for you, making sure you have everything you need and loving you unconditionally. A father, however, is just the other half of your DNA.

Right now, Skipper is just my father, and I don't think that will ever change.


	5. Chapter Four: Message to Skipper

_Blood._

_Screams._

_Horns._

_Breaths._

_Blood._

_Cries._

_Darkness._

I wake up from another nightmare, cracking my head on the top of my bunk as I shoot up, just like almost every other time. I groan in pain and cradle my head once more, sighing as the pain slowly goes away. It looks like those medications still aren't helping.

I've been on the meds for about four weeks, and I'm ready to quit them. They're doing nothing at all so far other than being a nuisance. The flashbacks and nightmares haven't stopped, and I've been having panic attacks as well, another sign of PTSD. These medications are supposed to help with these, but apparently they're not. I just want them to go away, because I'm tired of taking them for them to help nothing. The doctor said they might take up to three months to start working, which at this point, I would not be very happy about.

With another groan, and sit up and roll out of my hole in the wall. When my feet hit the floor, I run my fingers through my hair, looking at my hair in the mirror across the room. I just had it re-dyed a couple of days ago, thanks to Private bringing me to the hair salon. Much to Skipper's disappointment, I got my hair dyed teal this time, and I am quite happy with how it turned out. I ruffle my hair a bit, checking once more for anything that the hair salon girl might have missed. Very much to my pleasure, I find nothing. Everything is perfect.

I get dressed in my skinny jeans, a black tank top, and a red sweater over the tank top. The neck hole is very large on the sweater, so it reveals my right shoulder, which is the reason I put the black tank top on. Without it, I would get in trouble by the teachers at the school and be written up for violating the school regulations. I haven't been written up before, but I have watched some of the other girls get in trouble for it.

I think about the holidays as I put on my makeup. Thanksgiving is next week, and that means winter and Christmas are coming up soon. I always loved the holidays, but with Mom gone, it just won't be the same. Something tells me that these holidays are going to be awkward and boring. Maybe not, but I doubt these men actually were into any holiday, let alone Christmas. I could be wrong, though. Kowalski might celebrate it with Private, but Kowalski seems more of the type to celebrate Charles Dickens than the actual Christmas holiday.

I shook my head of my thoughts. More and more each day, I realise how much I'm getting lost in my thoughts. Whether about Mom or about the guys, or even some random shit that my mind came up with, I cannot focus. Somehow in some unthinkable way, I'm still making it through school with decent enough grades. I've been working my ass off to get straight A's for Skipper to impress him, but I've learned it takes a lot to impress that man.

Within the last four weeks, Skipper and I have been talking slightly, but nothing to what a father-daughter relationship should be. Nothing like the relationship I had with Mom. Hell, I even get along better with Private than I did with Skipper. He's so frustrating with such high expectations of me and how I should act. I'm fifteen years old, not twenty-one.

A shout of my name from the devil himself comes from what sounds like the living room. I give myself a quick once-over to make sure everything looks good before walking out of my room and down the hall to the living room. "Yeah?"

Skipper sat in a reclined position on the couch, his feet crossed at the ankle under the table as he swirled his fish in his coffee cup lazily. "Just making sure you were up. You should get up earlier, around five instead of six, so that way we can work in some training before school," he commented, taking a large gulp of his coffee.

"Do I have to?" I whined, not really wanting to get up so early. I hate getting up early, and especially to do something so piddly as to do training. Training is him seeing how much karate I knew and how well I could kick someone's ass. That's about it. He's been interested ever since it came up in a conversation a couple weeks ago, and he's been wanting to teach me his own little tricks and moves on how to fight.

"Yes," he says firmly. "Set your alarm for five, because that's when you're getting up from now on."

I groan and sigh, grumbling out a "fine" before going back to set my alarm before I forgot. That wouldn't be good, especially with how short Skipper's temper has the capability to be.

After I set my alarm clock, I trudge out to the kitchen, thinking of my nightmares lately. I've been crying myself to sleep each night, missing Mom and her smile, the way we had fun, how she would talk to me, not at me or down to me. She talked to me like another adult, not like her child. I miss seeing Mom happy and joyful, I even miss times I saw her sad. I would love for all of this to just be a nightmare, one that I would wake up to Mom dancing and singing off-key to the radio or one of her classic rock CDs, a golden smile on her face that would help me shake off this horrible nightmare.

Unfortunately, my mom is not coming back, no matter how hard I wish.

I feel a hand lay on my shoulder, and I jump, realising I've been standing in one spot for a while. I turn around to see Kowalski standing behind me, a light frown on his face. His black hair is tousled from spending the night in his lab again on accident, his lab coat on and his safety goggled perched at the top of his head. His bright blue eyes peer down at me before he got down on one knee so I don't have to look up at him. Now he is only slightly shorter than me. "You okay?" he asks gently. I can see he's trying to reach out to me a little bit, but he's not sure how.

A light, gentle smile spreads across my face as I nod a bit. "Yeah, I-I'm okay." I ignore my small stutter in my sentence, going on. "Just thinkin', that's all."

He nods a bit, though doesn't believe me. I can see it in his face that he doesn't believe me. He smiles back though and pats my shoulder, standing back up to his monstrous height. I smile and shake my head before going to the cupboard, grabbing a granola bar for breakfast. Slowly, my breakfasts have gotten slimmer and slimmer, and now I have a granola bar and I'm good until lunch.

I eat it up and throw away the wrapper, sighing and running my fingers through my hair. I feel tired and upset, and Mom just won't leave my mind. For once, I'm actually glad that I'm going to school.

After a while of doing mostly nothing, I grab my bags and head out the door without so much as a "bye". I get on the bus and sigh as I flop in my seat, looking out the window at Skipper. He always is there as I get on the bus, watching me, making sure no one hurts me. I close my eyes and wait for the bus to arrive at the school.

* * *

I walk into my last hour science room, dreading the thought of it being last hour and the fact I'm going to have to go home.

This time when I walk into the room, everything seems... off. Nothing seems right, like something is missing or out of place. I look around, trying to spot the source of my odd feeling, but I see nothing. Shrugging it off as Skipper's paranoia getting to me, I take a seat and decide to work on the last bit of my homework that I hadn't completely done.

When the bell rings for class to start, I jot down my last answer, hoping the teacher wouldn't see me. A familiar voice hit my ears, but it wasn't the teachers. I whip my head up to see the same creepy robotic-eyed guy that I've been seeing everywhere, standing in my teacher's place, a wicked smile on his face.

"Hello, students," he greets us. "I'm Dr Harris, and I'm your new science teacher. Your old teacher... well, let's just say he's gone for a very long time, shall we?" he smiled a cold smile that sent chills down my spine. "Today, we're going to be learning some new things. I'm going to teach you how to build some high-tech science things that will benefit m- you, benefit you greatly in life."

I squirm in my seat as we continue on the lesson, "Dr Harris" teaching us first on how to read plans. Nothing felt right any more. I didn't feel safe. I glance at the clock, sighing inwardly.

Only a half hour left of this class and this crazy psycho. Suddenly, I was really looking forward to the fact I would be heading home in less than an hour. Should I tell Skipper about what's happening and my conspiracy with this guy? Knowing Skipper, he might flip off his rocker and be extra paranoid about it, or brush it off and not worry about it. He had only two modes: "give no fucks" and "paranoid overload". I toy around with the idea a lot, but before I came to a final answer on what I was going to do, the bell rang. Immediately I'm up and out the door, along with some other people with really freaked-out looks on their faces. Was he stalking them, too? Or was it just his creepy eye thing throwing them off?

I sigh and walk back to my locker, shoving my books in and grabbing my homework to take home. I walk off before I could see Bada and Bing. Nice dudes, but just slightly annoying.

As I'm walking out of the school to go meet Rico with thoughts of last hour still stirring in my mind, I feel hands on my arm. I let out a surprised gasp as I'm pulled into a dark teacher's room, fearing that something completely horrible was about to happen. _It's probably the new science teacher, Dr Harris_, I thought, _he's been following all over the place since I moved here. He's going to kill me. He's going to torture me and rape me and kill me and I'm going to die.  
_

Though when the lights flip on, all suspicions of mine are put out. I am faced by a man with amber eyes, slightly messy ginger hair, and quite a small build for a guy. He is slim and fit, but his bone structure and his frame is almost that of a larger-built female. His arms are littered with scars and marks I don't dare question, his face ashen as he looks at me. "Are you Liberty Peregrine?" he asks, a higher-pitched German accent spilling from his lips. I furrow my eyebrows together, staring at this strange man. His voice pitch isn't what I was expecting, nor did I see the accent coming.

"Why?"

"I need you to replay this message to Skipper for me," he says a bit urgently, ignoring my question. His voice telling me that whatever he is about to say is very important. "I need you to tell Skipper these exact words, nothing more, nothing less."

I just nod, half fearing what he was about to say.

"Tell him this; the dolphin is swimming the ocean. He'll know what it means."

Not sure if I should be completely disappointed that it wasn't some extremely weird thing, or really glad. "Okay, I will. But who are-"

The ginger man covered my mouth with his hand. "No questions. Remember those words exactly. Do not forget them."

And with that, his thumb moved to under my chin and pressed firmly, making my light world go black in an instant.

* * *

The next thing I know, I'm in my room, covered up and tucked into my bed. I feel groggy and unable to concentrate clearly, but I push myself out of bed. My feet weren't ready for the landing, though, because I topple over and into my dresser, smacking my head on the side of the leg. The crack on the head makes me wake up fully as I hold my head in pain. As I scowl at the dresser, I try to remember what happened last.

_The dolphin is swimming the ocean._

I sure as hell don't know what that means, but I'm going to relay it to Skipper just in case it is an emergency.

Getting up and making my way out to the living room, I find Skipper sitting on the couch, sitting upwards and staring off into space, his hands clutching his coffee cup, his knuckles white from the grip he had on it. He looks concerned, his eyebrows pressed together in a frown as he stared at the wall, a look of anger in his eyes. I've never seen him look so deep in thought before, and it's almost kind of scary.

"Skipper?" I ask softly, trying to get his attention without him going commando on me. "Skipper? You okay?"

He blinks and his head shakes, as if he's trying to clear his head. He looks up at me, a smirk claiming his lips. "Just fine, soldier, no need to worry about me."

I nod. "Well, I need to tell you something. Do you know a ginger man with a German accent?"

"I may know one or two," he replied, his eyes turning to slits. "Why? Did one of them do something to you?"

"No no! Well... yeah, kinda, I guess. He took me into a closet and asked if I'd relay a message for you."

Skipper sets down his coffee cup and crosses his arms. He stares at me, not saying anything. The look on his face says everything. _Continue._

"The dolphin is swimming the ocean."

Never have I seen my father go so pale.


	6. Chapter Five: The Big Fight

"All right, boys." Skipper slams his coffee mug on the table, making us all jump slightly. I roll my eyes slightly at the fact he still refuses to acknowledge me as a girl at these 'meetings', but I've learned to just accept it by now. Skipper's not going to change his ways. Accept what I can't change and change what I can't accept, I guess.

"I've got recent news that Blowhole is planning an attack," Skipper's eyes flit towards me, "but against what, I don't know. I think it's safe to assume he's attacking us, but normally he'd contact us because he's not exactly the brightest when it comes to that. No, this time is different. This time, he's getting help, and we all know Blowhole doesn't get help on anything he's doing, which means he's planning something big. I don't know who he's getting help from. He's been oddly quiet lately, and I don't like it. We need Intel, stat."

Everyone nods understandingly. I clear my throat lightly to get their attention. "Who exactly is Blowhole?"

Skipper huffs and throws his arms in the air. "Well, _obviously_ he's a villain! Do you need any more information on him? No? Okay. Just hope you never meet him."

Annoyed, I nod to shut him up with a roll of my eyes. "Can I leave then?"

"No. We need you on this task just as much as you need us. Sit there and listen."

Once again, I nod. I don't want to get into a fight right now, especially in front of the other three, but Skipper's getting on my nerves really badly and how I wish to tell him so.

"Good. So, we all need to upgrade our defences on all entrances into the HQ. We can't have anyone enter the base that isn't us, and by now I'm going to have to upgrade Liberty's security clearance. Kowalski, you plan out an attack, how to upgrade our defences, and try to figure out what Blowhole is planning."

"Yes, sir," Kowalski says, jumping up and running off to his lab to do as ordered.

"Rico, weapons check. Make sure every weapon we have has ammo and that it works 100 percent. Clean, test, clean, test, and clean. Any weapon that might have something wrong with it, give to Private for inspection. He'll confirm if the weapon is faulty or not. Private, if a weapon is at all faulty, give it to Kowalski for a fix. While you're waiting, Private, help Kowalski with his actions and make sure everything is classified and no intruder can get a hold of his plans. Do you understand your positions?"

"Aye aye, Skipper." Private and Rico salute Skipper and run off to do their jobs. I sit very quietly as Skipper turns to me, picking up his coffee mug and gesturing to the side.

"C'mon, you're coming with me. You need to prove to me that you're worth the upgrade."

I raise an eyebrow and nod, but I get up. "Worth the upgrade"? What in God's name does _that _mean?

Skipper takes me to a room that I've never been in; kind of like a karate room, but much, much darker and creepier. The floor has some blood spatter stains, along with some other questionable stains. The walls are covered with the padding that helps break your fall, but the padding is very torn up and old, and the room has an odd stench to it. I turn to Skipper, my eyebrow raised high in questioning. What the hell is this room?

"Training room," he says, as if that'll explain everything. I just blink and stand there like an idiot as he sets his coffee cup on what looks like a rusty metal table off to the side of the room. With a snap, he's in a fighting position, and he stares at me like a predator staring at his prey, getting ready to pounce at any giving moment.

I get into a position I'm comfortable with, and he gives me no warnings or any signs that the fight has started. He just throws a roundhouse kick at me, but I block it by jumping out of the way. We kick, block, throw punches and fight as if we were enemies. At this point, I honestly believe we are.

Mom never talked about Dad, but occasionally she told me little stories about how they loved each other, but it just wasn't enough. I've been here a good month, month and a half, but Skipper never, ever mentioned my mom. I mentioned her once around him, and he immediately backed down and never said another word that entire night. It grows on my nerves a lot, and I'm letting out my anger by throwing my best moves and punches. Rico taught me how to back-flip and front-flip, so I use those to block some of his attacks. With the back-flip, I almost miss the landing, but stick it very messily at the last second. Skipper manages to throw a punch that hits me in the stomach, but I roundhouse kick him in the knee to make him back down. It's getting to be a hellacious fight, one where we are both getting heated.

One thing I didn't count on, though, was him using his body weight against me. Skipper throws himself at me and uses his body weight to pin me on the ground. At me being 5'4 and barely hitting 110 pounds, I am naturally crushed. He's careful not to completely hurt me, but he isn't too light, either.

I continue to try and fight against him, but his legs have mine pinned to the floor and his hands hold my wrists. I am unable to move. Finally, I sigh and stop, accepting my defeat. I didn't expect to win against someone who's been in the army for a little over fifteen years, but I sure as hell tried.

"You're good," Skipper comments, "but not good as you should be. We need to do some training."

I frown. "Skipper, I'm _fifteen. _And if you haven't noticed, I'm not the tallest, and I don't weigh that much. I'm not going to be able to block someone if they use their weight against me."

"Good point, but I can still teach you how to avoid them using their weight against you, or you can use their weight to your advantage. There's a lot you need to learn, soldier, and I'm going to teach you."

"What if they manage to pin me like you're pinning me right now?"

"We'll get to that later. Right now we're going to focus on blocking and using their weight against them."

I sigh and nod as Skipper gets off me and helps me up. I guess I can count on this for father-daughter bonding, but not exactly in the way I wanted. Oh well. Only three years and I'll head back to Green Bay and I'll never have to see his face again for as long as I live.

* * *

After running through everything and training for what felt like forever, Skipper stops the training and goes out to the living room. He calls in the others to check up on what they are doing and how far they've gotten with the tasks they were assigned. I take this chance to slip off into my room. I wipe off my makeup and pull my hair back into a ponytail, my muscles aching from the extensive training.

I stare at myself in the mirror, looking at my forehead. Within the past month, I've styled my hair to cover my forehead, but that still doesn't get rid of the huge scar that formed. I gently touch it, watching my reflection's finger gently skate across the ugly scar. It's horrible, slightly raised and discoloured skin replacing what should be just normal skin on a forehead. It's a reminder of the crash, a reminder that because of it, I'm stuck here in New Hell instead of Green Bay. The scar is a reminder of a horrible event in my pass, one I wish to forget. But alas, I cannot forget an incident that I have panic attacks and PTSD about, no matter how hard I try to block it out. The scar is a battle scar, something I earned in life from living. Barely living, but living nonetheless.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, turning to my bed and away from the mirror so I don't have to look at the marking across my forehead.

With a flop, I drop into my bed, careful not to hit my head on the top like almost every other time. I'm surprised I haven't cracked my head open with how many times my head has met the ceiling with force of a freight train. Maybe that's what I should ask for Christmas; a higher bunk ceiling. I'm sure Rico could do something like that within a matter of ten to fifteen minutes.

I bury my head in my pillow with a soft groan, relaxing and listening to Skipper's commands at his men. I can't understand what he's saying, but I pick up on certain words every now and again. I sigh and stretch a bit before relaxing again, slipping into a sleep that, for once, I didn't need to cry myself into.

* * *

I wake up in Skipper's arms for the first time in a couple of weeks, him saying my name soothingly and shushing me as he holds me tight. I gasp for air as I realise my nose is stuffy and I can't breathe through it. My hands shakily go to my face to wipe off some of the wetness there as I have been crying, apparently, but Skipper catches them and mutters something to Rico, who wipes off my face with a handkerchief. I don't remember why I was crying; I assume that it was about the crash, but I'm not too entirely sure.

Just as I come to the conclusion that it was probably a dream of the crash, I look around my room, which protests that very statement.

My room is a complete disaster area. It looks like a tornado mixed with a hurricane went through it. Everything was scattered everywhere, some of my makeup bottles were broken on the floor and spilling its contents, some red stuff that looked an awful lot like blood was on the floor in small droplets and smear marks. My little knick-knacks were on the floor, picture frames on the ground, and some of my dressers were moved around as they were crooked with some drawers slightly open.

I see Kowalski and Private picking up stuff and trying to clean up what happened as best as possible, but it's easy to tell that they've only just gotten started here a little bit ago. Kowalski is currently cleaning up some glass from my makeup bottles, and Private is moving some of my dressers to where they are supposed to be.

I blink and look up at Skipper, confused as to what was going on. I then look at my hands as the pain starts to register within them. My hands are covered in blood, small glass shards lodged into my palms and fingers, my skin ripped and shredded and looking like hell. I gasp and cry out in panic at the sight of my blood covering my hands, then and look at the floor to realise the red droplets on the floor is my blood. I look back up at Skipper, now panic-stricken at the fact I couldn't remember what had happened, tears springing back into my eyes as fear and panic settled into my system. My heart starts to race in my chest, and I feel terrified at what has happened.

"Calm down, Liberty," Skipper softly commanded me, holding my wrists tight. "Everything is going to be okay. Just relax."

I try to speak, ask him how the hell I am supposed to calm down and relax, but it only comes out in sobs. He lets go of my wrists and picks me up, taking me into Kowalski's lab to dislodge the glass from my hands. I feel lost and confused as to why I'm in such a state and why my room is in a disastrous state.

Skipper sits down on a chair in Kowalski's lab facing sideways to the table, placing me on his leg facing the table as I set my hands on it. I feel one of his arms wrap around the small of my back and his hand rests on my side, gently stroking it with his thumb and holding me close. I rest my head on his shoulder as Kowalski comes in shortly after we arrive and begins his work on my hands.

It took a good twenty minutes of me sobbing into Skipper's shoulder as he held me (and acted like a father for one of the first times in his life) and pain for Kowalski to finally get all the shards of glass out of my hands. I whimper at the sight of my blood all over the little work table and glass pieces in a jar beside the tweezers that Kowalski used to dislodge the glass. He then wraps my hands in gauze and tells me that he's done as he begins to grab a wash cloth and wipe down the table. I pull my hands close and cry into Skipper's shoulder.

Skipper holds me close, pulling my hair out of its ponytail gently and starting to stroke my hair soothingly. He shushes me and talks to me softly, telling me he would protect me and under his watch I would never be harmed again.

An hour later, everything calms down, and I feel emotionally exhausted. I have cried my heart out to the point I can't cry any more. Glancing at the clock, I see that it's now four in the morning. I have to get up in an hour for training. As if he read my mind, Skipper told me I didn't have to get up as early, and he'd let me sleep in for a couple of hours and bring me into school when I woke up.

"I'll explain everything to you tomorrow when you get home from school."

I nod and curl up in his lap, closing my eyes as I feel his arms wrap around me. He holds me tight against himself as he strokes my back, and for the first time since my mother passed, I feel safe. I sigh deeply and relax, slipping into darkness once more.

* * *

The next day I woke up around seven o'clock and my room was back to almost brand new. My knick-knacks are out of place, but everything is cleaned up and there was barely any evidence of this morning happening.

Alas, my hands are still gauzed up, so it happened. It wasn't some freak dream, no matter how much I wanted it to be one.

With a groan, I wipe my eyes and run my hands down my face. My hands throb lightly under the wraps, and they feel uncomfortable and a bit itchy. I sigh and get up slowly, sitting up in bed for a bit before getting dressed. I don't know what my mind is doing; going a million miles an hour or staying still. It seems like all these thoughts are going through my head, but each and every thought is silenced by the same question that keeps popping up: what happened last night?

Playing with the gauze on my hands most of the while, I grab my bag of school books and brush my teeth before walking out into the living room. I find Dad sitting on the couch, swirling a fish in his coffee lazily, his face displaying that he is deep in thought. The others are nowhere to be found at the moment, but I'm not focusing on them right now.

Wait, did I just call him Dad? I shake my head, scolding myself mentally as I sit next to him, staying silent.

"How are you?" he asks, breaking minute-long, rather awkward silence.

"What happened last night?" I ask, ignoring his first question because right now, I don't even know the answer to that one.

Skipper leans back a bit, obviously trying to avoid talking about what is at hand. "I'll tell you when you're home tonight."

I cross my arms and argue. "I want to know now."

"You'll know when I tell you tonight."

"Skipper-"

"I said no," he states firmly in a voice that says "end of discussion".

But I'm not ready to let go, no. Something snaps inside me, and I stand up, my voice raising. "I want to know! I got hurt last night because of something, and I want to know what the hell hurt me!"

Skipper stands as well, a look of frustration crossing his facial features. "Don't you raise your voice to me, young lady."

"I want to know, and you're not telling me. What the hell happened last night? What are you so scared of that you can't even face the music right now?"

"You'll know when I tell you tonight, end of discussion."

"I want to know now, Skipper! For once can you please do something for me and tell me?!"

Skipper growls under his breath as he starts to get angry, but I'm standing my ground. "For once? _For once? _How about me giving you a roof to live under? How about me giving you food to eat? How about me planning out where to go to school where you'll be safe? How about-"

"How about you actually acting like a father and helping me through my mother's death?! Mom _died in my arms _and you haven't done jack squat about helping me through it! All you've done is ignore me and ignore the problem and do nothing about it! It's not just going to go away, you know."

His eyes turn to slits. "Ever think I'm going through something, too? Huh? Ever think that I'm dealing with her death, too?"

"No, I haven't, because you abandoned my mom when she needed you most!" I find myself yelling. "Mom and I needed you to be there, and you weren't! Did you even _think _about my mom when you broke up with her to be with the army? Do you know how freakin' heart-broken she was to lose you, and to find out two weeks later that she was pregnant with me? She was crushed, broken, and she needed guidance and help! Grandma and Grandpa didn't give any help, and basically told her that she was on her own and that's what she got for being in a serious relationship at a young age. She sent you a letter telling you she was pregnant, and you never even called, never wrote back, never tried to contact her once. You abandoned us, and I can't forgive that! So don't give me that 'I'm going through something too' crap because you didn't care about my mom!"

"_I loved_ _her!_" Skipper shouts. "I loved Kitka so much, but the army needed me more. I never got a letter about Kitka being pregnant, and every time we met up she never _once _mentioned you! I didn't even know you existed until she passed away!"

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" I scoff.

"Yes, because it's true!"

"I doubt that."

"Sometimes I think there's a reason she kept you away from me. I think she kept you away from me because you're an ungrateful and selfish bitch!"

I clench my jaw and growl, tears in my eyes from anger. I grab my bag and walk out of the apartment, screaming "Bastard!" before slamming the door behind me.

Faintly, I hear Skipper yell "Don't you walk away from me!" as I run down the flights of stairs, running outside just in time to run on the bus. I wipe my stray tears away with the back of my hand and flop down in my usual seat on the bus. Just as the bus starts to move, I see Skipper haul ass out the door, but I look away as the bus pulls away, heading towards the next stop.

* * *

I go through the day like normal, ignoring people who asked about my hands. They don't need to know. No one needs to know. I don't even know, so even if I wanted to tell them, I couldn't.

Through most of the day, I couldn't focus on a lot of things. My mind kept going back to the fight Skipper and I had, back to my mom, back to the crash site when I lost her, back to what Skipper said to me.

_I think she kept you away from me because you're an ungrateful and selfish bitch!_

I somehow managed to push through it, though, making it seem like I was paying attention all day. But now, it's last hour, and I need to pay attention. Dr Harris is still making me extremely nervous and paranoid, and I need to see what the hell is going on with this man.

Walking into my last hour class, I dread the fact that I needed to go home in an hour. I sit in my normal seat, looking over my homework from other classes and doing as much as I could before the class started. Since it was an easy day, there wasn't a lot, and I got it done before Dr Harris came in.

He came in as the bell rang, taking attendance and going over everything that teachers go over before they officially start the class. After he's done, he announces to us that we're going to be making a "diabolagiser". Everyone looks at each other weirdly before he continues his explanation of what it is.

Dr Harris takes up the entire class time telling us how to read a diagram and how he will be grading on how well the diabolagiser is made and if it works. No one really thinks twice about it, but I am slightly suspicious of what this diabolagiser is going to do. Of course, I don't have the guts to ask, especially in front of the entire class. I'm honestly scared of the answer.

The bell rings for the end of class and the end of the school day. "Liberty Peregrine," my name comes from that sickeningly sweet voice. "Will you please stay back? I need to talk to you."

I'm suddenly on hyper-alert as I nod to him, packing up my stuff. When everyone else is out of the class, Dr Harris starts to draw something on the whiteboard. I walk up next to him and watch as he draws, trying to figure out what exactly he's drawing. To me, it looks like a bunch of nonsense. It's squiggles and lines going everywhere, and it looks like a three year old got a hold of a marker and started scribbling. My face wrinkles up as I stare at the drawing. What the hell is he trying to show me?

And then, he starts erasing.

Slowly, one by one, he erases certain lines, the squiggles he added in, and a lot of the nonsense that he squiggled onto the board. All in all, it took about three minutes, but in the end, the board displayed a very clear message.

_I AM DOCTOR BLOWHOLE._

I gasp and take a step back, my eyes widening to the size of saucers as I'm slapped in the face by reality. This is why he's been following me everywhere; he's the guy we've been trying to catch. He's the one we've been wondering about. He was under my nose the entire time and I didn't notice anything. Why didn't I bother to ask what he looked like?

Reality catches up with me and I do the first logical thing that comes to mind; escape. I try and escape him, try to run away, try to do something but stay there, but a hand grabs my arm from behind and a rag covers my mouth.

"Nighty night, little one," I hear a rough, accented, male voice comes from behind me. It is followed by a rather evil-sounding chuckle as I slip into unconsciousness and fall into the hands of the enemy.


	7. Chapter Six: Trapped

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the very distinct, not-so-nice odour. I wrinkle my nose as I slowly blink my eyes open, trying to move against what felt like cold metal. Where am I? What happened?

I slowly start to recall stuff, and as the memories flood my mind, I quickly open my eyes and gasp. I'm pinned against a wall (or what I'm assuming to be a wall, anyway), my wrists and ankles in metal cuffs attached to the metal wall behind me. One thing about metal, I find, is that it's very cold against warm skin, so it kind of feels like ice is pressed up against my back. The cool air wraps itself around me, making me shiver. It has to be 60 degrees in here, at most. The fact that fear also has its icicles-for-fingers wrapped tight around me doesn't help at all, either.

I try to move, but I'm unable to. I look at the cuffs on my hands and feet as best as I could to see if there was a way out, but it didn't seem like it. It looks like Skipper's training is useless at the moment, and that everything we went through together was for nothing. I still got caught by Blowhole or whatever his name is, and I can't get away.

I'm alone so far in a dark room, save for one light shining down in the middle of the room. It is enough for me to see, though, that this place is creepy as shit. The walls are made of concrete, chains hanging from the sides with cuffs hanging off the chains. Blood is sprayed all over the wall and floor, and it doesn't seem incredibly old. It's still very red and seems slightly damp yet, and it's possibly what I'm smelling, but it also smells suspiciously like mildew in here also. It's damp and moist in here as well, which doesn't help my coldness situation at all. There's a clock on the right wall, ticking away, counting my breaths, counting the moments I'm trapped, counting my life being wasted away in this hell.

Once more, I try to wiggle around, see if I could do anything to help myself out of this situation. It's of no use, as nothing seems to be working.

I close my eyes and hang my head, sighing deeply. I have to find a way out. What would Kowalski do in this situation? Would he ask Rico for one of the many explosives hanging out in his pockets? I can't exactly just pull a stick of dynamite out of thin air, and even if I could, I can't light it at all, or even use it without doing extreme harm to myself. Think, Liberty, think! What should I do?

The door crashes open, interrupting my train of thought and making me jump out of my skin. I look up to see Dr Harris - or should I call him Blowhole - standing there, an evil grin on his face that truly showed how insane he is. He is enjoying the fact that he's hurting a fifteen-year-old girl.

To the left of him is an older but shorter man of about 5'7, 5'8, with an eye patch over his left eye. His grin shows his two front teeth, which are bigger than normal, one of his teeth longer than the other. His skin is pale as all hell, which makes me think he hasn't seen the sun in a long while. He is also very bony and scrawny, and his red hair spewed lazily from the top of his head. His eye is actually a bit reddish, which threw me off. I didn't think it was possible to have red eyes, but apparently it is. Who knew?

To the right of him was another reddish-haired man (does Skipper have a kink for red-haired people or something?) with blue eyes, his hair slicked back with hair gel. Unlike the eye-patch guy, he has a darker skin tone, but I'm not sure if that's just his skin or if he's got a tan. From the looks of it, though, it's natural. He looks as if he's from a different country, which leads me to believe that his skin tone is natural.

Last is the tallest man I've ever seen (actually taller than Kowalski). He has to be 7'0, at least. He has a full head of blond hair with piercing amber eyes, his grin showing sharper-than-usual canines. He is thin and lanky, also. Something about the way he's looking at me just doesn't settle right in my stomach. It's giving me what Private would call "the willies".

"Good evening, little one," Dr Harris grins darkly as he steps forward into the light. With a shock, I realise he's wearing the same suit as when I first met him on the plane a little over a month ago. That blueish-grey suit with dark grey buttons, but this time he didn't have his stupid briefcase. My eyes widen as the grips of icy cold fear grow tighter around me. I struggle to get out, but only get his annoying, choppy laugh in response. "No escaping now. You're all mine. So you might be wondering what the plan is, yes?"

I stop struggling to glare at him, not saying a word.

"I'm sure you do. Well, it's very simple. I've been tracking you down for about two months now, since I found out Skipper had a child. The problem was, _Skipper_ didn't know Skipper had a child. So I had to make some way of letting him know about him having a daughter. Well, what better than a car crash to sweep the mother out of the picture?"

My eyes go wide once again, but instead of feeling fear grip me so tight I'm unable to breathe, I feel my face get hot with anger and I try to launch myself at him, temporarily forgetting the cuffs. "You killed my mom!" I scream at him. "You fuckin' killed her!"

Dr Harris smirks. "Ah ah ah, language. Clemson, please teach this lovely lady a lesson."

The reddish-brown haired man steps forward, and got out a pocket knife from his back pocket. I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut as my shirt lifts up, and I feel the cool metal of the knife drag across my stomach. It isn't deep or really enough to worry about, but it still hurts like hell. I suck in air sharply as I feel it start to bleed, but Clemson pulls my shirt down so it will soak up all my blood, what little there will be.

"That will teach you a lesson. Do not swear or disrespect me or there will be pain. You will tell me what I need to know, or there will be pain."

I bite my inner lip a bit before looking him in the eye. "Go to hell."

His fist collides with my jaw, and a great pain rips through me. I need to keep strong. I cannot let this man break me. I would rather die than compromise any of my father's missions. I can't do that to him, to the team, no matter how mad at them I get. I groan and spit some blood, adding to the floor's collection of it. I look up at him bravely; much more bravely than I actually feel, might I add.

"You're going to pay for that, little one. But for now, what we're going to do is simple. Give us the information we need when we need it, and nothing will come of you."

I twitch my nose in disbelief, but I don't say another word. I will not agree to those terms, ever. I notice he doesn't finish his plan, but at this point I don't really care. I don't want to know his stupid plan. I want out of here.

"We'll be back in a half an hour with some food and some water for you. I have to make sure you're strong enough to give answers, and to endure the pain, if we so choose not to participate."

And with that, the four of them left, and I spit blood once more. I close my eyes, thinking back to what the devil was saying.

Skipper _didn't even know Skipper had a child._

He was telling the truth. Skipper was actually telling the truth. I didn't believe him when he told me Mom didn't tell him anything, but it's true. Mom really didn't tell him anything about me. Mom kept me a secret from Dad all these years, and I've been internally blaming him for abandoning us. He would have never abandoned us if Dad had known about me, I bet. I wouldn't be in this situation. I'd have my mom and my dad in a happy family, living in New York City where Mom grew up, and I would be free and happy and healthy.

Why did Mom keep me a secret from Dad? Am I really an ungrateful, selfish bitch, and that's why she kept me away from him?

I suddenly become hyper-aware of my surroundings.

Oh.

Maybe this is why she kept me away from Dad.

Hey, wait, since when did I start calling him "Dad"?

I shake my head and sigh, my head hitting the metal background with a light thump. I close my eyes and sigh deeply. I'm tired and upset, and I just want Skipper. I need him. I feel horrible for getting so upset with him. I was holding him to such high expectations and when he wasn't meeting them, I just got so... I got so mad. I can only hope he'll forgive me enough to come after me and save me.

The problem is, when will he realise I'm missing? Will he think I just ran away because of the fight we had? Will his gut tell him I'm missing?

I know I don't believe in God much, but I'm praying to Him over and over again, hoping He hears me and helps Dad find me. I don't want to endure the pain and the torture, but I will if it means protecting him.

I'm tired as all hell, but I can't fall asleep. Not right now, anyway. This is so stressful, so horrid, so unrealistic. This type of stuff only happens in films, books, and TV shows, but not real life. No one gets kidnapped and tortured for information. No one is that cruel, that heartless.

But apparently Dr Harris is. He's that cruel, that heartless, that selfish, that cold. Because he's Doctor Blowhole, and if I've learned anything from Skipper's lectures to the team, he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants.

Even if it means killing an innocent fifteen-year-old girl.

My life is on the line here, and I'm not sure if I'm going to make it out alive. By the sound of it, Dr Harris is going to torture me to hell and back until I'm ready to give him the Intel he needs, which I'm not going to do. If he does it planned out and he doesn't come in too often, I have a chance of survival. I can only hope and pray Skipper finds out I'm gone and that I'm kidnapped before it's too late.

Dr Harris never brought me the food and water.

It's been about three hours, according to the annoying clock on the wall, since that asshat guy came in. I'm bored and upset, and I wish I had something to stare at that isn't a clock. My hair is in my face, sticking to my now-dry tear tracks, and I feel very tired. I've tried falling asleep for the last hour or so, but I'm way too stressed out.

The door slams open once again, and I look up to see who is coming to torture me. It is the scrawny guy with the eye patch and the two large front teeth, standing there at the door, a grin on his face. "You were easy to take out," the rough, accented voice comes from his lips. He's the one that chloroformed me, the bastard.

"Don't expect me to break as easily," I reply with venom in my words.

His lips tug into a smirk at my words, rolling in behind him a set of tools for my torture. A small whimper escapes my throat as I stare at the tools, my body already starting to ache a little at purely the thought of him using anything on me. "Don't worry," he grins, "I don't expect you to."

My screams echo throughout the room, and most likely throughout the base.

After about three hours of my body being whipped, cut into, and burned, I'm still somehow staying strong. I didn't expect myself to stay strong for this long, but I am. Apparently I'm much more stubborn than I thought I was.

The scrawny guy, in the middle of everything, introduced himself as "The Red Squirrel", and he talked about nothing throughout the torture session, occasionally asking me questions about Skipper and their secret hideout and stuff. For three hours straight, all I have let slip through my lips is my screams and cries of pain, and nothing more.

When he starts packing up, I feel relief wash over me. My torso is now covered in blood, my legs sting from the whipping even over my pants, and little circular burn marks were scattered around my upper half, including the scar on my forehead, to add insult to injury. He cut my shirt off to get better access to my torso, but left my bra on, thank God.

"You're a toughie," he comments, "but I think this will change your mind."

He gets out a bottle of salt, and my eyes immediately start to water at just the thought. Oh god, this is going to be painful as all hell, but I have to stick through it. C'mon, Liberty, you can do it. Think of the team, think of how disappointed they'll be if you give them the information...

The salt touches the cuts on my stomach and it immediately starts to burn. I scream out in pain as tears once again spring to my eyes, tightening my muscles as if it'll help with the searing pain. Even if I wanted to, the pain is so severe that I can't talk. I freely let the tears flow down my cheeks like waterfalls, shaking and gasping for air.

"Who knows who will be next? Maybe next time you'll talk, give us the information we need."

I grit my teeth together, managing to spit out a three-word sentence. "Kiss my ass."

Red laughs and grabs his tools, walking out of the room.

I'm alone with my injuries. My body aches and burns, and for about a half hour now, darkness has been consuming the edges of my vision. I allow myself to be swallowed by darkness, figuring it would take away the pain, even just temporarily.

I wake up to pain. My entire body feels as if it's been hit and run over by a subway train at least four times. I gasp and whimper out as I come to, moving a little bit. I'm uncomfortable, I'm cold, and I've never been in such a horrible situation. I mean, the car crash hurt and was horrible in its own way because I lost Mom, but now... Oh god I've never felt pain like this before, and I never want to again.

The door bangs open again, and I flinch at the loud noise. My head pounds and my heart starts racing, and I don't want another torture session. I can't handle another torture session. No, no, no!

"Looks like the little one is awake," a voice says. I don't recognise it, but when I look up, I see Clemson there. I gasp and start to already cry with fear. Clemson starts to laugh at me, which makes me angry, but also much, much more terrified. I shake and start to beg him, asking him for mercy, but he raises his eyebrows and ceases laughing. "You ready to tell us where your father's classified stuff is?"

I found myself actually thinking about the option for a second, before mentally slapping myself. No, you can't do that! Are you stupid? Are you that much of an idiot that you'd give up your father's secret everything just so you can be safe? Don't be selfish, continue fighting!

"I thought so," he replied, taking my silence as a "no". I grit my teeth, hoping that this will be short and quick instead of hours long like last time.

"Clemson!" Dr Harris's voice comes from the doorway, making both Clemson and I jump out of our skin. For once, I'm actually really glad to hear his voice if it means the torture session is delayed. "Not now. I've found Skipper's team. It's time to put our plan into action."

Clemson nodded. "Yes boss," he replied.

As it turns out, I'm not actually on a wall. I'm attached to some sort of upwards table or some sort of thing, because Clemson is moving me out of the room into the main room, or whatever it's called.

There's a huge computer screen, bigger than any technology thing I've ever seen. It has to be at least twenty feet tall, and fifty feet in length. If I wasn't so focused on my pain, I would actually be extremely impressed right now. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the metal, feeling myself rolling along.

When I stop, I open my eyes to find Dr Harris right in front of me. I gasp in fear and tighten up, prepared for something to happen. His choppy laugh is loud in front of me, and I growl softly under my breath for letting myself get so scared at just one person.

Then again, this person has been stalking me, killed my mother, kidnapped me, and has been torturing. This person is scary and demented, and suddenly I don't blame myself for being scared.

Dr Harris stands upon a podium in front of the screen, his face appearing on the large computer screen. I'm in the background off to the side, and I get a good look at myself.

My jaw is bruised and swollen up where I was hit earlier by Dr Harris, my face distorted slightly. From a punch delivered by Red, the blood that ran down my lips and my chin is now dried up, but my nose is bruised. I'm littered with cuts, ranging from deep to scrapes, blood seeping from almost all of them. Burns are less common, but still there. My upper chest as a couple of them, some worse than others, all hurting like hell. The whip marks stood out a lot, the skin raised and bruised. My hair is in my face and looks like there's some blood in it. I look like I've been through hell and back several times.

The image of Dr Harris is zoomed in more on his face, cutting me out of the picture, which I'm almost thankful for. Just as I'm about to ask what the devil was going on, Clemson puts a ball gag in my mouth so I'm unable to talk, and ties it in the back so I can't spit it out.

"Savio," Dr Harris commands, pointing at the extremely tall man. "hook me up."

It takes a couple of seconds, but on the screen comes a couch. A familiar couch. My home's couch.

_Oh shit.  
_

"Oh, Skipper," Dr Harris taunts in a low sing-song voice, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I have found you."


	8. Chapter Seven: Plans

_Crash. _"Blowhole!" we hear a screech coming from the sidelines, and the team jumps into the frame. I notice they're in the same order as when I first met them; Skipper in front, Kowalski in the back, Rico to the right, and Private on the left.

I take in their images, examining each one of the black-haired men. Private's eyes are red and watery, and the poor guy looks like he's been crying. I wonder what got him so upset. Kowalski looks half out-of-it, as if he's concentrating only slightly on Dr Harris and more on some distant thing at the back of his mind. Rico, well, looks like Rico, but with a much more concerned look on his face. Skipper however, looks the most stressed, as if he's carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders. I frown deeper, looking over them, temporarily forgetting my own pain as I felt horrible for them.

"Get off our TV!" Skipper exclaims, annoyance and frustration laced in his voice, his arms crossing over his chest.

With a very dark, rotten grin, Dr Harris taunts him. "I've come to your television screen for a reason, Skipper. Don't you want to know what the reason is? What I'm planning to do?"

Skipper sighs exasperatedly, running a hand down his face. He's tired, upset, and I see how stressed out he is. I feel horrible for him, wondering what on earth could be stressing him out so much. "Fine, yeah, sure, get on with it."

Dr Harris smirks at the big screen, his arms crossing as he leans forward onto the podium casually. "Well? Aren't you going to get the fifth family member involved?"

Dad's - oh, there I go again - interest in the conversation peaks a little, and he looks at my former science teacher very sternly, as if daring him to make a wrong move that would piss him off. "She's not part of this. Leave her out of it, Blowhole."

"Oh, but I'm afraid it's too late for that, Skipper."

I watch the screen zoom out, almost as if in slow motion for me. I watch the expression on Skipper's face drop, and quickly become a look of complete concern twisted with fear, and the same look crosses the rest of the guys' faces.

"You sick, twisted fucker! Let her go, now!" Skipper demands, pointing at the screen. Complete and utter fury has taken over the concerned and fearful look, and I start to fear for Dr Harris's life.

Though, he seems to not be fazed by this. He pretends to consider what Skipper as said before waving it off with his hand. "Nah, I think I'm good. You have 48 hours to come and surrender to me, and this little soul will be released. Fail to do so," Dr Harris continues, looking over to me with a look in his eye that makes my body chill to the bones. He makes a hand gesture under the podium so the men can't see it, but Clemson, who is still next to me, can see.

Suddenly, agony shoots through my side. I scream into the ball gag in my mouth as my hands clench, and my body shifts to try and instinctively get away from the pain. I look down at my side and see that Clemson made a slice with his knife. Blood slipped down my side and down to my jeans, slowly soaking into and staining them. I whimper and look up to the giant screen to see Kowalski holding Rico and Private as their backs are facing the camera, and Kowalski's looking down at the floor, a look of despair displayed on his facial features. The only one looking at the TV is Skipper, and he looks completely pissed. If this were a cartoon, steam would be blowing out his ears from how red his face is getting from anger.

I've never seen him so pissed before, and the death glare he's giving Dr Harris scares me. "Fail to do so, Skipper, and you'll never see your daughter alive ever again."

Dr Harris gives his choppy and annoying laugh, but this time instead of actually being annoyed, I'm scared out of my mind. I fear for my life. I fear for my new family. I fear for everything around me and how everything is going to go down.

Just as Skipper is about to say something, the call is cut. Tears well up in my eyes and I feel overwhelmed with feelings of fear, doubt, and a small dosage of hope. The icicles of fear are creeping into my system, and there's no possible way for me to stop them. I cannot stop the fingers of reality from closing around me, and nothing feels right.

I start to cry as Clemson wheels me back into my little torture room, and it feels like I've been here for a half of forever, and I'll always be here, forever.

* * *

After my second torture session is done, I'm left alone once more. My tears sting my eyes and my face from the torture and the memories that have been running through my head. It feels as if my world is collapsing in on itself. I just want to wake up in my bunk, hit my head on the ceiling of it, and have this all be a dream. I would pay money for this all to be a dream, but sadly, this is just too real to be a dream.

I turn my head and wipe my eyes on my shoulders, wiping away the tears that has strayed from my eyes. I shake from the cold and how scared I am, trying not to think of the several different ways this could play out and result in my death.

The door slams open, the loud clang of the door hitting the wall echoing throughout the room. I cringe and look up to see Dr Harris walking inside, dressed in his lab gear. He's in a lab coat, latex gloves covering his hands, and goggles on his eyes. In his left hand, he holds a test tube, and in the right he holds tweezers and a switch-blade knife. My eyes widen as I stare at him, watching as he flips open the pocket knife and presses it against my arm.

He slices a piece of skin off, which makes me grit my teeth and groan in pain. During my stay here, I've endured worse, but it still doesn't make this feel any better. His signature laughter echoes through the room, and I can honestly say I've never felt annoyed and terrified at the same time before; until now, that is.

"Don't worry, little one," he says, his voice making my battered skin crawl. "I only need a bit of your DNA, and a copy of your memories. Then, I have a plan."

I gulp, and my voice comes out weak and tiny as I ask him the question, "Wh-What's that?"

His infamous smirk spreads across his face, and I almost immediately regret asking the question.

Dr Harris puts my skin into the test tube and tops it with a black cover so nothing can contaminate it. "Well, you see, Liberty, I want to have you alive. But, if Skipper doesn't surrender in..." He glances at the clock."forty-two hours, then I need to kill you. So I'm making a clone of you, a clone who has the same memories and emotions as you; an exact duplicate. She is going to be the one I kill, while the original – you – I keep. Skipper will not be looking for you, then, so he will not try to rescue you. So I get to keep you, watch my arch-nemesis go through a lot of pain at watching his daughter die on his watch, and I get to be the cause of it all! It's a win-win-win!"

"How did you know Skipper is goin' to get me? It's not like we've been gettin' along that well."

He smirks again. "You have, though. Don't you remember that night in your room? Or were you too tired?" With my head tilt and confused look, he presses on. "I sent one of my minions into your room that night to harm you. He did quite the job, I see," he said, his head nodding towards my gauzed hands.

"You're an ass," I hiss out, my teeth gritting harder in anger.

His blade slices me across my thigh through my jeans, and I let out a yell as tears sting my eyes once more. "Don't talk back to me," he growls lowly at me, a dangerous look in his eye.

I roll my eyes at him, only to feel his fist meet the side of my face. With my body being so weak at the moment, he quite literally knocks me out with one hit.

* * *

I feel discombobulated when I wake up once more. I cringe at the pain radiating from my torso and my face, my neck sore from the position my head is currently in. I blink my eyes open, only to close them quickly as the light stings my eyes. I open them ever-so-slowly to get my eyes used to the brightness of the room before looking around.

I'm in the control room area again, but this time I'm not in front of the giant screen. I'm facing... Well, I'm facing me.

Right in front of me is an exact replica of me, down to the angle of the cuts, my hair cut, everything. Her eyes are closed and her head is lolled off to the side, her chest moving up and down with each breath she took, scarily in sync with my own breathing.

It is almost as if I am staring into a mirror, but this is way too realistic. This is a clone.

I gasp and yelp slightly, terror and annoyance running through my veins as I hear Dr Harris laugh slowly coming closer. I can't see him since he's coming from behind, but by listening, I can tell he's not alone. There are two sets of footsteps, one being Dr Harris, who takes longer strides and falls a little heavier, and the second pair being someone who walks quickly and they're light, because their steps barely make a noise against the concrete floor.

"You like my invention?" Dr Harris says as he comes into my view, and I give him a glare, swallowing my pain and terror. Whoever was walking with him is not next to him now, which means one of two things; one: he walked off, or two: he's behind me.

Dr Harris sweeps the hair off the forehead of my clone, and it sends shivers down my spine. It's like a nightmare I never had came to life.

"I'm quite pleased with the way this turned out," he continues. "While you were asleep, I copied your memories from your brain and put them into hers. The last thing she's going to remember is you.. passing out," he says, as if I won't remember him punching me in the fucking face. I can see from my clone that my cheekbone has a bruise forming, buddy, so there's no use hiding that you punched me.

I stay silent, watching her sleep. "How is she sleeping so heavily?" I ask aloud.

"I've been injecting propofol into her system so she doesn't wake up," Dr Harris replies casually. "I don't want her gaining any memories of this in case she realises she's a clone and tells Skipper right before she dies."

That is something I would do. If I was a clone and I knew it, I would tell Skipper I was a clone as I was dying.

"Blowhole!" I hear a voice I don't recognise coming from the main part of the control room. "It seems the team is here!"

"They've come at the nick of time," Dr Harris says, and I suddenly get cold feet. How long was I out? I mean, last time I was awake they still had forty-two hours left. Have they been giving me that propo-stuff to me, too? What even is that stuff, anyway?

"Get the clone in the cage and wake her up. Red, do as planned. Go!"

Almost instantly, I find myself falling to the floor. The cuffs on my ankles and wrists have released, letting me go. I didn't realise it quickly enough, though, because my body crumples to the floor in exhaustion. I feel slightly dehydrated and my hunger is twisted with pain, both internally from lack of food and externally from all the markings that have been made. I cringe and start to sit up slowly, only to feel Red's creepily skinny hand grab my throat tightly and yank me up, pulling me off to the side of the control room behind some boxes. I start to struggle, only to feel Red cut me right between the shoulder blades. Honestly, it didn't hurt that much at first due to the knife being so incredibly sharp, but the pain quickly caught up and I stopped struggling.

Red drags me behind some boxes and forces me to sit down with my legs underneath me so I wouldn't get up and run from him. I hear a hoarse cough from behind me before his accented voice whispers into my ear, "Blowhole said not to kill you, but he never said I couldn't hurt you. Keep that in mind if you start to think about escaping."

I swallow hard.

What has my life become?


	9. Chapter Eight: Attack

It seems my father and the team are having a hard time finding an entrance into the building, so it's going to be a little bit before anything actually happens. This gives the enemies a little bit more time to prepare and a little more time to go over whatever plans they've established. Since I lipped off when I first came here, I never really got the chance to truly know what Dr Harris's plans were. I didn't have a clue what he was going to do with me. I really am starting to regret lipping off. Sometimes I do things before I actually think, and it gets me into trouble. For example, right now.

I feel Red's hand around my throat release, and I confusion takes over me. Sadly, the confusion only lasts a little bit of time before it's stomped out like a cigarette butt. The cloth ball that I had in my mouth when Dr Harris called Skipper through the TV is placed in my mouth once more, just so I cannot speak. Of course, just because I cannot speak does not mean I cannot make noises, and Dr Harris knows this. As Red is putting my hands in handcuffs, Dr Harris tells him to stay behind me, continue holding my throat so no noises come out. If I start to really act up, knock me out. If I'm at all seen, slit my throat and feed me to Savio.

My eyes close. I can't believe this is actually happening to me. This shit usually only happens in films, TV shows, and books. This stuff doesn't happen in real life, especially not to me. My life was happy, and I was content with it. I was happy with just my mom and I living alone in our house. I was happy to live in our area in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I was happy just to go to the store with Mom and wake up to her every morning, singing some classic rock band loudly and off-key while jamming to the music playing on her CD player. I was so content with my life, so happy with the way it was. It was all torn away from me so fast, that in a way, a little over a month later, I'm still in shock. I'm still adjusting to my new life. In a way, I feel as if I'm no longer Liberty Peregrine. I feel as if I am someone else, living someone else's life for them while they have taken over my old one.

In a way, I blame Skipper for everything that's happened. I blame Dad for all the things I've been put through. I resent him a little, because if he wasn't my father, I wouldn't be in this position.

Then again, if he wasn't my father, I wouldn't be entirely me.

Red's hand is once again placed on my throat, and what Dr Harris said plays in my mind. Slit my throat and feed me to Savio. Savio is the really extremely tall man with the look of hunger in his eyes when he looked at me at first. Oh, my god, he's a cannibal, and he was hungry. That's why he was looking at me like that. My eyes widen just at the thought of being eaten by someone, coupled with the thought of eating someone. I can't even imagine eating an actual person. That's just... insane.

All of a sudden, I'm aware of Red finishing saying something in my ear. I've just completely missed what he was saying to me, so now I don't know if I'm supposed to be doing anything or what.

It wasn't anything important, apparently, because he doesn't do anything when I sit still.

From my position I'm able to see a good portion of the room, yet I'm so off-to-the-side and hidden that someone even glancing in my general direction wouldn't see me.

Clemson and Savio are standing on either side of Dr Harris, all three of them just standing there, waiting for the guys to come barrelling in from somewhere. Come to think of it, I don't know where we are or how accessible this place truly is. It could be as hard as Fort Knox for all I know.

It doesn't take too much longer, though. I see Rico jump into the scene from the ceiling somewhere, carrying a flame-thrower in one hand and a very large gun in the other. He immediately takes aim with the gun, but Dr Harris screams "attack" right before he pulls the trigger. All three dive out of the way as the trigger is pulled, and some sort of missile like thing shoots out of the gun.

Although the three villains have dived out of the way, red-headed minions, all looking exactly like the rest of them, come charging out from everywhere, and the missile proves not to be useless as it kills several of them. Just as it proves not to be useless, it is immediately discarded from the many more minions coming everywhere. I watch with wide eyes as the minions come from everywhere; dropping from ropes on the ceiling, coming up through the floor, barging through the doors of billions of rooms. Dad is next to jump out from a vent, carrying a handgun. Private and Kowalski join him, also carrying shotguns.

Dr Harris is back up on the podium, quickly pressing a button. The button does nothing at first, the team's guns' gravities start changing to upward. The team struggles to hold on, but it again it's useless as the force on the guns is too much for them to actually be able to use them properly. They let them go, and all the guns fly up to the ceiling, collected by a chute that closes up once it's retrieved the guns.

I glance to Liberty, and I can't help but want to laugh at the fact her and I have the exact same facial expression; fear, mixed with anticipation. Of course, I don't laugh, because that would be asking for trouble and pain, and at the moment I've decided I don't want trouble and pain.

"Fifteen minutes, Skipper," Dr Harris calls, his eyes darkening and a smirk threatening to take over his lips. "Are you ready to surrender?"

Dad's eyes are hard as he stares at him. "Not in your wildest dreams, Blowhole."

The infamous smirk appears, and he screams "attack" once more.

I watch a scene unfold before me that I wish I didn't have to watch.

The ball of cloth in my mouth is preventing me from saying what I desperately want to say. The Red Squirrel tightens his long fingers wrapped around my throat, holding it tightly enough so I can't make a sound, but not enough to deprive me of air. I feel his long, sharp nails prodding against the side of my neck, reminding me of just how close to danger I really am. My still-gauzed hands are behind me, the metal handcuffs squeezing my wrists. I'm sitting on my legs, my ankles crossed under my butt as the cold, concrete floor cools my jeans. I swallow hard as I listen to the sounds of the fighting, something I'm unable to control at this point.

I want to get up, I want to shout out that I'm here, but if I do, a slit goes through my throat with Red's Zero Tolerance knife. I would feel pain only for a second, because I would bleed out almost instantly with how insanely sharp that bastard is. Every now and again, I feel him lightly scrape my shoulder with the tip of the blade, reminding me how close I am to death and horrible pain.

The only thing I'm capable of doing at this point is watch my dad and his team, my family members, get beat up and kicked around by Dr Harris's red-headed "minions". I watch as Private gets punched in the face, and I look down for a moment. I don't know how Red knows, but every time I look anywhere but the fighting and the scene unfolding just twenty feet away from me, I feel the diamond-coated blade of Red's blade cut into my shoulder just a little harder than a reminder. I look back up to the scene, watching the ones I've grown to love be hurt by the man I've learned to despise.

The look-alike minions pile on top of Kowalski, completely covering him. I flinch lightly at imagining poor Kowalski under all those bodies, under all that weight and pressure. It has to be hard to breathe under there.

Next, I look towards Rico, who seems to be effectively knocking each one out with a punch to the face. Until one catches him off guard, and they all pile on top of him, too. I frown deeply, biting my ball gag a little bit out of pure annoyance.

I look to Private, hoping he has gotten somewhere the other two haven't. He is not too far off, trying desperately to get to one of the others to help them out of their situation, but it seems as if nothing is working. He successfully keeps away from a pileup for a short while, but it isn't too long before he joins the rest.

Skipper, on the other hand, is battling Clemson. The blue-eyed demon has the upper advantage, though, because he has a wooden walking cane, and Dad has nothing. His arms are getting bruised and beaten up, and he's beating his cries of pain down, but every now and then a grunt of agony escapes his poor lips.

I look over to my counterpart, who is in a cage in the far corner of the room. She's looking around the surrounding area of the cage, looking for a key, a paper clip, anything to help her out of the situation. Occasionally, I hear a gasp or a whimper of pain as a cut rubbed wrong against the shirt Dr Harris provided my double last minute. Every time I hear her whimper from the pain, I'm reminded of my own pain, and it shoots up my body as if to say "Hey, remember me?"

Movement from Dr Harris catches my eye. Savio is giving Blowhole a gun, one that has _Skipper McCullock _etched into the barrel.

He's going to kill my clone with Dad's own gun.

I want to scream, but I don't know what from. There's so much going on, that I just wish to scream, get some stress and pressure off my chest and let it out through my vocal cords. It doesn't help that I'm going to watch myself get shot.

He waits. I don't know what for, or what he's planning, but he waits. The gun is raised, cocked, and pointing at my clone, who seems not to notice since she's so busy with trying to find a way out of the metal cage she's in. I whimper slightly at this, only to feet Red jab me in the back with the back of his knife as a warning.

_CRACK!_

The gun goes off, deafening everyone with the loudness of it. The entire room goes silent, the only sound being heard is a light _thump _of my double's body hitting the bottom of the cage on her back. It looks as if she's been shot through the heart, but I'm not sure. Tears brim my eyes as I watch Dad's face turn very pale, then go beet red from anger and fear, which he's turns into anger.

With the sudden adrenaline, Dad throws Clemson off of him and into a wall, which seems to have jarred him slightly. Dad then yells my name, to try and get a response, but nothing comes from my clone. I frown deeply, wondering if she's already dead. That would suck ass, but would save me from getting hurt more by the scene unfolding.

Skipper launches himself at Dr Harris, a deep hatred portrayed on his face. I swallow hard, biting down on the ball in my mouth, my breaths becoming heavier as I wait for the death of my captor.

Of course, my captor has anticipated Skipper making that move, and so were his helpers. Savio and Clemson (Clemson is still in a bit of pain from being thrown against a wall, but Savio's helping him up) jump to the side of Dr Harris as he presses a button on the home-made Segway he's on. A bubble forms around them so Dad can't get at them. All three of them cackle and laugh as they are lifted up into the air by some unknown force, going up through the ceiling of wherever we are. Dad watches, a deep hatred that cannot be explained through words displayed across his facial features.

Dad's not dumb, though, and he grabs a paper clip from his pocket. He's going to pick the lock on the cage.

It takes a good three minutes, all the while mumbling, to get my duplicate out of the cage.

He drags the body out of the cage, lightly tapping her face. I could faintly hear whispering, until Red put something in my ear. Somewhere on that duplicate's body is a microphone, and it's picking up what he's saying, forcing me to listen to it through an ear piece.

"C'mon, soldier, stay with me. I know you can do it. You're my kid, and you're tough like your mom, so I know you can do it," I hear Dad practically beg through a choked-up voice, and I see him cupping my double's face. Tears start to drip down my own cheeks as I watch everything. "You can do it, I know you can. I believe in you. Please, stay with me."

At the angle the two are in and the angle I'm in, I can clearly see that my counterpart has been shot through her heart. There is blood soaking her shirt and her arm, as her hand is pressed over the bullet wound to try and slow down the bleeding, but it's of no use. I can already tell she's a goner. With how much blood there is, the injuries we both have, the hunger pains, the slight dehydration, and the lack of a will to live all combined into one, my body double doesn't stand a chance.

"I can't do it. I can't," she whispers to him. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"You can."

"But I can't. It hurts too much."

"Stay strong, dollface," Dad says, forcing back tears. "You mean so much to me, Liberty, and I'm sorry I'm not as good of a father as I should be. I suddenly found out I'm a dad to a fifteen-year-old, and I didn't have a clue what to do. I'll make it better, I promise, I'll be better. I'm learning, and I'll help you as much as I can. But in order for me to do all this, you need to be there. Please, stay strong for me. I need you."

At the sound of this, my heart lurches into my throat and more tears flow freely down my face. He truly cares about me. I'm not just in the way and an annoying leach that's been brought into his life. He truly, actually, completely cares about me.

She doesn't say anything. His hand slips into hers, ignoring the blood now between the two of them. By now, everyone that looks at the two of them knows she's beyond repair, beyond help. She's quickly fading away.

"Please don't leave me," Skipper begs tearfully. I start to cry harder, sobbing quietly into the cloth ball in my mouth.

The clone smiles lightly at Dad. "I love you, Dad," she whispers, and her eyes shut as she takes her last breath in his arms.

Skipper allows himself to cry, continuing to hold her hand. Then, ever so softly, I hear something in the ear piece.

"I love you, too, Liberty."

I begin to bawl into the gag as the ear piece is taken out of my ear. The Red Squirrel grabs me and yanks me up, dragging me behind the building of wherever we are.

I also notice something.

It's hard to see where you're going when tears are in your eyes.


	10. Chapter Nine: Two Weeks

_**Two Weeks Later**_

I feel like Sam Winchester soul on Supernatural after being in hell for a long time; broken, lost, and damn near flayed. I've barely slept, barely had anything to eat but stale bread, and barely drank anything but some stale water about once every other day. In the past two weeks, I've lost at least ten pounds, and my entire body is littered with cuts, bruises, burn marks, and bite marks from Savio. I'm exhausted from everything going on. I'm proud of myself for not leaking anything, however. I'm still to this day confused why he didn't copy my memories and use them for his own usage, but apparently he didn't think that all the way through. I'm definitely not going to give him that idea.

After the fight, Red brought me to a private jet Dr Harris actually rented out, and they flew us to Denmark. Why Denmark I don't have a fucking clue. Since then, I've been in this dungeon, doing absolutely nothing but being tortured and experimented on. By now, I'd be perfectly happy if they just killed me. It would end everything.

My shirt is still gone, my bra still attached, but they tore my jeans to shreds trying to slice my legs.

After being here two weeks, I've learned they come at five in the morning, noon, and seven at night. Every time is a different person, though. I haven't gotten that pattern down, if there is one at all.

I glance at the clock. It's 5:15; someone should be here by now. Yet, I hear nothing but the ticking by the clock on the wall, counting my life away. I'm not complaining, but I'm quite terrified. They've never been late before. Have they left me here to starve to death?

When I hear the door open, my stomach drops and I squeeze my eyes closed. If they're late, it can't be good. I don't want to see what he, whoever it is, has in store for me. I guarantee it can't be good.

I hear him walk up to me quickly and come face to face with me. He leans over me and ice-cold fear runs through my body. What I don't expect, though, is to feel the cuffs around my wrists and ankles release, and for him to catch me. His two hands catch me at my hips, then pick me up bridal style. I blink my eyes open to see a man who look familiar, but I can't place him. The ginger hair, the heavier-built female body type, the bright amber eyes...

_The dolphin is swimming the ocean._

"You!" I yell, my eyes wide. He's the one that got us into this entire mess. If he hadn't told me that one sentence, none of this would have ever happened. Or maybe it would have, just on much more drastic terms. For now, I choose to believe that he caused all this. "Why the hell are you here!?"

"Saving your butt," he says, his German accent filling my ears. "I'm busting you out of here. Can you walk?"

Glancing at my legs, which I haven't used in two weeks, I mull over the question a bit. "I might need some help," I say honestly, "but I think I should be fine."

He nods and puts me down, and instantly I feel faint from the malnutrition. The man's hands hold me steady for a second, making sure I'm really okay. He then pulls his light jacket off and hands it to me, which I gratefully take. I'm tired of being so exposed.

We sneak out of the room, but we don't make it far before we hear Dr Harris clapping in the background, stopping us dead in our tracks.

"Ah, Hans," he grins evilly. "Long time no see, yeah?"

The ginger-haired German man whips around and stares at the man, but then a crooked smile appears on his face. "Ah, Dr Mammal Fish," he replies, which makes me completely reconsider his sanity. "It has been a while!"

The man — Hans — has one hand subtly behind his back. His hand is lightly gesturing to the back of the base, to a door hanging out in the corner. I gently touch his hand, letting him know I understood.

He gets the message, because his hand immediately reaches into his pocket and grabs a circular object, throwing it at Dr Harris. all three of us, including me, scream as a huge explosion of gas erupts from the object. We all immediately start coughing, and I remember what Hans gestured before; the door.

I sprint towards the door, ignoring my torso's screaming at me to stop because of the pain. I pull the sleeve down on the jacket and cover my mouth, trying to keep from passing out from the gas, which I can hear Dr Harris and Hans have done already. I burst outside and immediately shut the door, sighing deeply and trying stop myself from passing out. I must stay conscious.

After a couple of minutes of just standing and breathing in the rather cool air of Denmark, I started to walk around the building. They had to have some sort of driveway here, right? I could follow that and go to a gas station or something.

As I'm walking, I realise I don't have a clue what language they speak, or if they speak English at all. If they don't, I'm fucked. I sigh and continue my way, deciding not to think about it and just to think of attending to my wounds somehow. I need a first aid kit. I need gauze to wrap around my body so I don't hurt myself, and I need a goddamn shower. I need food, water, and I need to find some money and get _home. _That one is the most important one; I just want home.

Three miles up the road is a gas station. Of course, the sign is in a language I don't understand, and I feel very scared to go in, but determined to get home.

I push open the door to the station to see a heavier-set man sleeping in a chair, a hat over his eyes. His snoring is loud, and I can see that the poor man doesn't get a lot of business. The ringing of the door opening doesn't even wake him, he's that deep in a sleep.

This is my chance. I quickly walk around and find a large first aid kit, grabbing it and running outside, putting it on the outside of the store. If the guy wakes up, I don't want him to see me stealing.

Naturally, I have to steal anyway, so I have to do this anyway. I sneak behind the counter and open the register, my eyes widening at the money style. I don't have a clue what any of it is, but I grab all of it that I can. I shove the money into the jacket's pockets, glancing at the man next to me who's still sleeping soundly. I make my way to the food aisle, grabbing whatever I can and opening it up, shoving it in my mouth. I'm not even tasting it, I'm just shoving it in my mouth for the sake of finally feeling full. It feels good to finally eat.

I force myself to stop as to not overstuff myself. I lick my lips, and I feel a lot better all ready. I quickly grab a bottle of water, drinking most of it before, again, stopping myself. I don't want to overdo it.

With some food shoved in the left pocket of my jacket, money in the right, and a huge bottle of water in my hand, I leave the station. Right outside is my first aid kit, and a payphone is right there. I grin and pick it up, grabbing some coins from the pocket. I look at the picture on the payphone and shove it in the coin slot, punching in Dad's number.

A voice on the other end speaking a different language says something, and then the voice changes to English.

_"For English, press 3."_

I jam the 3, then hear the message repeated. Most of it is garbage, but then I hear something important.

_"To call out of Denmark, press 00."_

I hang up and put a couple more coins in, picking it back up and dialling 00, then Dad's number.

Finally, it starts ringing, and I relax a bit.

"Skipper speaking."

I smile and relax more. "Hey, it's me."

"Who's 'me'?"

"Liberty."

Dial tone. I sigh and put a couple more coins in, dialling the same number again.

"Who is this?" is Dad's answer, his voice low and threatening. I have to somehow convince him it's me, but I'm not sure how to.

"Dad, I promise, it's me." Yeah, that'll convince an overly-paranoid, mid-thirty-year-old, near-psychopathic guy.

A growl sounds through the phone. "This isn't funny. Call again, and I'll kill you." Dial tone.

With the same growl that my father just produced erupting from my throat, I dial one more time.

"I warned you-"

"Dad, just listen to me!" I yell into the phone. I then sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to think of a way to explain myself.

Dad huffs, and I can practically _see _the annoyance on his face. It's the same look on his face when he sees Julien, who is the most annoying resident in Central Park Apartments. "Well, I'm listening."

I roll my eyes. "Get that annoyed look off your face or I'll slap it off you next time I see you." I don't give him time to respond. "My name is Liberty Peregrine. My mother is Kitka Peregrine, you are my father. You and her had a thing back in high school but you wanted to work for the military or something, and you and Mom broke up. She then had me in secret, and you didn't know I existed until two months ago, and when you first told me that I thought you were lying and I feel incredibly sorry for that. What you saw die in your hands wasn't me, but a clone of me. I promise, Dad, I'm still alive and... well, I'm not going to say I'm well because I'm battered to hell and back and I feel like I've been to hell."

There is silence, I fear that the call disconnected itself a while ago. Have I just spewed all my information to a stupid offline payphone?

But then, a small voice comes over the line, and I hardly recognise it as my father. "Liberty?"

Relief washes over me, and I feel increasingly better that he believes me. "Dad, it's me. I promise. I absolutely promise that it's me."

"Where are you?"

I look up at the Danish sign and laugh. "Denmark. Dr Harris brought me to Denmark for some unknown reason. I'm outside a gas station now, some guy busted me out."

Dad sighs deeply, and I can almost see him running his hand down his face like he does when he's stressed. Why have I made him stressed? I mean, besides the whole I'm-on-the-other-side-of-the-world-and-I-just-basically-came-back-from-the-dead thing. "Shit. Okay, listen carefully. Do not say my name. Do not say that you're my daughter. If asked, claim you don't know me. Choose a different name to go under, and get out of that country as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"I'm Denmark enemy number one, so I would rather you stay out of that part of my life."

My eyes go wide and I groan. "Oh, great. Just my luck. I should have known. All right, here's the deal. I'm going under the name Pandora Coleman. I think I've got a lot of money, but I honestly don't have a clue. I don't know what this stuff is. I'm going to go grab that guy... Hans or whatever."

Silence. I'm nervous as hell about all of this, so I shove a couple more coins into the slot to stay on the line with Dad as I hear him talk. "Hans? As in Hans Madsen?"

I shrug, forgetting he can't see me. "I don't know, I've met the guy twice. He didn't even tell me his name, I had to learn it from Dr Harris."

"Where is he?"

I lean against the building. "Back at Dr Harris's—"

"Blowhole's," Skipper interrupts me.

"— base," I continue, ignoring his interruption.

Immediately, Dad starts to protest. "No no no, you are _not _going back there!"

"Dad," I say calmly, hoping to calm him a little so I can talk some sense into him. "Do you want me wandering around Denmark having no clue what the hell I'm doing, or would you rather me go back and get Hans or whatever his name is and have him direct me at least to an airport to get the hell home?"

Once again, I'm met with silence. He's thinking about it, because he's worried about me. It's a brilliantly stupid idea. There are several outcomes of this plan.

"Are you sure you can do this?" he asks quietly. "I don't want you hurt. I can't... I can't lose you again."

"I know."

A silence lapses between us, but this time, we both know what's going through the other's mind. This could be the last thing I ever do, and as horrible as it sounds, it's nice that he got to see clone-me die, because at least he got to know what happened. He knew I was shot and killed. He knew what happened. If I die now, he may never know the truth of what happened.

"Please be careful," Dad pleads softly, and I hear his voice crack a bit. "Please. I cannot lose you again."

I smile lightly. "You won't, Dad. You won't lose me again. I'll be home soon, I promise." I pause for a minute, unsure of how to hang up. "Dad, what the clone said was true. I-"

_Click._

The call disconnects, and I roll my eyes at it. Okay then. I hang it up and shove the money and everything I stole into the first aid kit bag, hiding it behind the store. I take a deep breath and stare at it, then nod to myself, tearing ass back to the base to grab Hans, the entire time praying that this goes right.


End file.
